


A Bit of Heart Left

by Ashling, shoshe_anders



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Family, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Loyalty, M/M, Mentions of Death, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Secret love, This fic is much lighter than I'm making it out to be, Violence, Work Camp, this fic takes some turns it's not all just one thing that's all I'll say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:02:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 53,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22162252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashling/pseuds/Ashling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoshe_anders/pseuds/shoshe_anders
Summary: After months of separation, Tommy and Alfie find themselves reunited in a prisoner of war work camp in Oberhofen, Germany. The year is 1918.
Relationships: Ada Shelby/Freddie Thorne, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 62
Kudos: 111





	1. It's All Fine, Until It's Not

New captives from France were arriving each day to the soldiers' prison camp in Oberhofen, Germany. It had been nearly forty-seven days since Alfie and his company of infantrymen were apprehended near the Franco-German border. Alfie had been given a choice in where he was to be kept: an officer camp in northern Germany, or here, with the rest of the common allied rabble. He had no desire to desert his men, so he stayed.

There were five large shelters in the prison camp at Oberhofen, each holding nearly 250 men in rows of bunk beds. In the center of the camp was a cafeteria, and two manual pumps for water. To the south of the camp, the latrine and showering units. Those who were able-bodied were sent to work in fields for harvest. For Alfie, this helped him maintain a somewhat level head. Ten hours a day of harvesting grain was certainly grueling and monotonous, but the reprieve from gunfire and screams held its own therapeutic quality. 

Today had been no different than the forty-seven days before. Dusk settled over the camp, and the Captain sat outside of his shelter at a makeshift table, playing a game of cards with a few others. He was alerted by the sound of an engine approaching the front gate and he pulled his cigarette from his lips. More men? They were at capacity as it was. He craned his neck to get a look as a few guards left their posts in the towers to take in the newest prisoners.

On the whole, they were a regular bunch: sullen, angry, significantly more well-fed than those who had been in the camp for a while. There was one exception, an officer who was just as wretchedly thin as the most poorly-fed prisoner, with a certain flatness in his piercing blue eyes and heavy shackles on his wrists.

Haber, one of the guards that fancied himself a good man, a tall blond with a decent grasp of English, gave them the usual spiel: curfew, prohibited behaviors, the general workday. As he spoke, the shackled man wandered away, slipped through the crowd of prisoners gawking at the new men, and finally reached one of the pumps. Fumbling awkwardly with his shackled hands, he put the weight of his body against the pump and pressed it until the water began to flow. He stuck his head under the spray, washing away the grime and dirt to reveal a pale, gaunt face beneath. Face still dripping, the man sat down, back to the wall, and surveyed the yard with sharp eyes, clearly scanning for size, men, exits...until he came across Alfie, caught his eyes, and stopped. His eyes narrowed.

Alfie’s eyes had not left the shackled figure. His blood pounded in his ears as he frowned. Why hadn’t the bastard been more careful? His attention went back to Haber and the crowd, eyes searching for another flicker of familiarity.  _ Danny Owen, Freddie Thorne... _ His stomach churned sickly seeing his brothers in arms and he turned once more in his chair to look at Tommy Shelby. Holding Tommy’s gaze, Alfie jerked his head to the direction of the others, silently urging Tommy to get back with the crowd if he wanted to be let out of his chains. 

Blame it on the fact that the trek to this camp had been so long that Tommy had lost all track of time, blame it on dehydration and the cold he was likely to come down with, or the dreams he had lately of Greta. Blame it on anything, really, or maybe just call him foolish, but Tommy recognized that face, so he leaned his head against the wall, and smiled. It was a small smile, the kind that nobody would catch unless they were looking closely, but he knew Alfie and Alfie knew him, so that was—that was all right. He lifted one shoulder in a half shrug; he knew he wouldn't be let out of the wrist shackles anytime soon, if the obnoxious dog of an officer that had captured him was anything to go by. He didn't see any reason to get up. Now that he knew that Alfie was around, he felt the exhaustion begin to sink in, as all previous worries about what might happen to him at the camp faded away; even with a hundred other men around, he knew he was as safe as anyone could be in a prison camp, so. He didn't really give a fuck. 

Tommy sized Alfie up as best as he could, trying to figure out how well he'd fared in captivity. Card game, that was a good sign. It meant they weren't always sleeping or in the fields, meant they were useful enough that the Germans weren't actively trying to work them to death. 

The Germans finally went away (except for those that always sat, perched high in their posts with eagle eye views of the place), and the group of new men hovered somewhat anxiously. Freddie was the first to notice Tommy was gone, and he found him almost as soon, which would have made Tommy smile if he wasn't already smiling. 

"You bastard," Freddie began, walking towards Tommy. Tommy jerked his chin in Alfie's direction, causing Freddie glanced over and break into a grin. "Well, fuck me." He strode over to the card table and reached out to shake Alfie's hand. 

Alfie offered a half grin and grunted as he got to his feet to pull the handshake into a hug. Alfie was strong still, from work, but a tad gaunt with malnutrition. When he pulled out of his hug, he handed his lit cigarette over to Freddie, who immediately brought it to his lips. "We all thought you were dead four months ago,” Freddie began, smoke swirling from his lips and nose. “But then, we thought he was too. The poor bastard’s been in a camp out in east Germany since… June? Makes sense that if he made it, then you would… Jesus, look at him." Tommy, leaning against the wall, had fallen asleep. "Going to have my work cut out keeping that one alive." 

“Most likely,” Alfie agreed. “I’ll be able to do what I can. Did they assign you lot a place to sleep? I don’t think there’s more than two free bunks in this unit, at least.” It was only because the occupants had recently been shot as an example to the others. “I’ll have to negotiate a bit, but we’ll make sure one’s Tommy’s.” He eased back down in his chair, leg still not what it used to be. He never fussed about it though. Alfie and his ego…well, his ego and his rational desire to remain useful so he wouldn’t be put to death. “You’re not shackled. Did they only put a muzzle on that dog?” 

Freddie smoked with great enjoyment as Alfie spoke, pausing only to reply: "Yeah, well, he does bite." It was only when the cigarette had been truly spent that Freddie elaborated: "He didn't have a good time of it. They were fucking around with Danny a bit, and Tom lost his head, killed one of them and blinded another. Really he's lucky he's still alive, for that. But I don't know what they'll do with him now. Kangaroo court, maybe, make an example of him. Poor fucker made his last escape attempt only a week and a half ago; I don't think he has another one in him now."

Chucking the cigarette end towards a bin, Freddie gestured at Alfie to follow him. "We'd better heave him in one of these bunks before the bickering over beds breaks out, hm?" He squatted and pushed Tommy's shoulder; sure enough, Tommy didn't stir. "Looks like a twig, weighs like a log."

Alfie smirked a bit and went to his outstretched feet. “Sounds like the fight hasn’t left him for a moment.” He hissed with effort as they lifted him up and moved him into the living quarters. “Toward the back; it’s a bed by the wall.” A bed not far from his own. “He’s a fucking fool to be on like that. They’re more than happy to put a bullet in your head as long as there’s another prisoner here to drag your corpse off to the pit." The pit was just outside of the camp walls; a large trench, nearly ten feet deep that must have been about a fourth of the way filled by now. When one was full, it was covered, and prisoners were set out to dig another. Alfie was quiet for a moment, more concerned about moving the body in his hands. “What did they do to Danny?” 

"They told him to swim, and he can't swim. He doesn't always panic easily, but he was panicking, and they were laughing, and—I don't know if you've seen him lose his mind before, but I'm not sure Tommy ever completely got it back, is the thing." 

They finally settled him in the free lower bunk, and then Freddie sighed. "I'll try to get some food into him later, if I can. Meantime, what happened to you? You look all right, have run of the place. Care to give me a hospitality tour, Captain?”

So Alfie did.

\---

Tommy woke in the dead of night, dehydrated, aching, and disoriented. Sitting up a little too fast, he knocked his head into the bunk atop his, cursed, and crawled off the bed, rubbing his head and wishing his eyes would adjust to the dark already. His wrists hurt and where was Freddie, where—right. All right. He leaned against the bed, thinking over his situation.

Alfie had been laying awake, straining his ears for any noises down the row. At the smack of Tommy's head and the clamor of someone rolling from a bed, he eased himself up and approached the bent figure, a shushing finger pressed to his lips. "All right there, Shelby? Get back in your bunk," he ordered, getting close, so there would be no need to carry his voice. He could hear Danny stirring over them, a long sniff indicating that he was still congested from an earlier cry. "You slept through supper, I've saved a bit for you."

"Alfie," Tommy murmured, and there, again, was that smile. It bled into his voice a little. "Look at you, no uniform and still going hard at officer bullshit." It was hard to look at Alfie, actually; even with his eyes adjusted, there wasn't much light. But the set of those shoulders, the rasp and rumble of that familiar voice: yeah, it was good. It felt good.

"These men need structure by someone with a bit of a heart left,” Alfie muttered, caught off-guard by a smile that had started to bloom on his own face. It felt like it had been months since he had melted into a smile like that. The room was still and silent except for the snores coming from bunks around them. He pulled Tommy into a brief hug, holding him up, before helping him ease back on the lower bunk. He pulled out a baked roll and a boiled potato from his coat pockets. "And look at you, they've got you chained up like a bloody zoo animal. Were you still giving the Germans hell after your capture?"

"Something like that," Tommy said, careful to keep his voice low. It took him a second before he reached for the food; his mind had stuttered a couple times over the hug, the warmth of it. Given and taken, so fast. The food helped. As soon as he took the first bite of that potato, animal instincts took over, and by the time there wasn't a crumb of the roll left, he'd gotten right, or at least gotten closer to normal. 

"Thank you,” he said. “I am glad, you know, that you've a bit of heart left. Selfishly." He patted the spot next to him. "Thought you were dead for a good few months there."

"And I, you.” Alfie sat down next to him. “Freddie filled me in. We were apprehended at the Franco-German border." He looked down at the shackles on Tommy’s wrists and touched the keyhole. If only he had a proper pick on hand. The skin under the iron was bruised and scabbed. "There was nothing that I could do. I tried to leave something behind in hopes to let others know I was alive, but they cleared out our camp. All our supplies were taken for German use. Those that had injury were killed on site and left behind.” Tommy looked too weak to be put in the field. Anxiety settled in his gut. What would they do with him in the morning?

"So Dom's dead, then?" Tommy didn't know why he asked it. Perhaps he needed to hear it said to make it concrete. He'd suspected it the whole time, but there had always been some part of him that had hoped against hope that he'd not failed Greta yet again, some last possibility of a very small redemption for himself in the middle of this fucking war. He went still as that thought went through him, then sagged against the bedpost. Jesus Christ.

“Dom’s dead,” Alfie confirmed, voice a little soft. “We did our best to hide his state. He actually made it to Oberhofen. We got him through the first night, but when we were assigned to the fields, there was nothing that could be done. He collapsed bringing in a half bale of wheat. The foreman gave him a warning by shooting the ground next to him, but he didn’t move. Then he was shot in the head. It was quick.” Alfie didn’t look at Tommy; he picked at his fingernails, instead. “I buried him.” Alfie had carried him to the pit, too, but Tommy didn’t need that mental image at the moment. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy closed his eyes. There wasn't a God to mind, but there was Greta's mum and her Virgin Mary always staring implacably at Tommy from over the mantelpiece, and Tommy crossed himself as a gesture to that, because he felt like someone from that family should, and in a very slanted way he was the last of the Jurossi men living. 

So that was it, then. In some oblique way, it was almost as though Alfie was trying to comfort him for his own death; he saw it all coming so easily now, as if his future had already become a memory. Yeah, shot in the head, could be worse. Would have preferred to take someone with him, but with shackles...

"Thank you," Tommy murmured. He wanted to ask:  _ will you bury me too? _ There was something restful about that idea, but he didn't want to be weak. He swallowed and mustered his strength, returning to his eternal resolution: it's all fine until it isn't. "So how are you finding all this?" he asked, opening his eyes, straightening up a bit. "City boy like you, enjoying the fresh air?" As if they were merely old acquaintances meeting in some holiday spot. Reset.

“Piss off with that question,” Alfie breathed, shaking his head. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes; there was no way to make this normal. For all he knew, Tommy could end up like Dom tomorrow. Of course Alfie could carry him, and he would want to toss himself into the pit afterwards. 

Tommy said nothing. But it wasn’t a hard silence. Given the nature of the night, they made all kinds of allowances for each other.

Alfie settled next to him. Their legs touched, lightly; he didn’t move away. He knew why Tommy was talking like this. It was a way to escape. He let out a breath and rubbed his calloused hands together. 

“I like it well enough,” he said. “May even build a springtime cottage somewhere nearby to make sure that I tear myself away from the smog of London. Somewhere near water. I want to jump into a pond when I’m done with a hard day’s work.” 

"A pond's always half dirt, and water-weeds, and fish that'll bite at your toes,” said Tommy. “What you want is a beach, and an ocean to shout at."

Though truth be told, Tommy had a feeling he'd never see the outside of this camp, much less a coastline, it wasn't a bad image to hold in his head, Alfie rising from the waves. Though Tommy hadn't seen a clean slice of sunlight for some time in this dreary, rainy season, when Alfie pressed against him it was warm and that was nearly the same as sunlight, wasn't it?

“To shout at?” Sure. Alfie had plenty of things he wished he could yell. “To... wrestle with the waves. Let them push you to the sand. If you ride them, just before the crest breaks, you feel like you’re flying.” Alfie looked down as he laced his own fingers in his lap, thinking about Tommy, so full of anger. Tommy could scream into the void of the sea. Maybe by doing that, all the pain he carried around with him would pour out, sink, and let him have some peace. “Fucking better than a pond, you’re right though.” 

Alfie sniffed and rested his head back against the wall, mulling over that these could be the last private hours he would ever spend with Tommy. He turned to his friend, and their eyes met. “Remind me why I owe you a drink? Was it for the leg lancing? At this point I should owe you a fucking car for that.” 

"A car? No, you already got me a potato, it's more than enough." Tommy smiled, not just with his lips but with his eyes too. Alfie was looking at him, and what the hell. "Especially when I didn't do half a decent job. You're still limping, aren't you?" He skimmed two fingers over Alfie's thigh, and through the thin cotton, he could feel the vague shape of the long scar there.

Alfie watched his eyes light up, and he was able to relax for only a moment. It was then that Tommy moved to trace his scar and his entire body grew rigid. He could feel himself getting warmer. Alfie couldn’t remember that last intimate touch he had felt, beyond brief pats to fellow prisoners when morale needed to be boosted. It was sweet, a genuine gesture. 

“Yes,” he said. “I limp, but I’m walking. The limp is only bad at the end of a long day. I know to rest it. I would have you nag me in my dreams if you didn’t.” Alfie inhaled as he felt a jolt of impulse. He unlaced his hands, placing one of them on top of Tommy’s. He kept it there, not speaking. 

Tommy stilled, but chose to keep on talking. He was well-aware that there might be one or two men awake—or a dozen, or fifty, even, in all that darkness. He had to keep the conversation passable, even if it suddenly felt like someone had run a hot flash of electricity through him.

"Glad to be of use," he murmured. "It can't be helped, you know. I fell into the habit young, after Arthur got an infected cut on his hand, nearly lost a finger. John and Arthur tolerate it, but Ada hates it. Calls me mum."

There. That counted as passable. He nearly shivered. Alfie's hand was warm and rough and he turned his own hand over, underneath, so they were palm to palm. His younger self would laugh at this, something as small as a hand in his own, but his younger self was a fool and here at the end of his life Tommy was tired of undervaluing everything in order to minimize the feeling of his losses. His chest hurt, and it wasn't a cough. He gripped Alfie's hand.

"If you get the chance, you could go down to Birmingham, see her. She'll have Freddie by then, likely, but she'll miss bullying me. And he's far too good, and she's far too in love with him to do that. Let her shout." It meant something on one hand, but on the other hand, it was just words. The real conversation was Tommy’s knee, moving a couple inches into Alfie's leg, and the way he was trying to keep his breathing even.

_ Oh, God _ . Alfie felt Tommy’s knee scoot and press into him. Alfie lifted his thigh slightly, and shifted it to settle again over Tommy’s, feeling properly tangled with him. Alfie slid his body slightly along the wall until he was shoulder to shoulder with Tommy. In the dark, Alfie’s eyes remained fixed on their intertwined fingers. 

“From your stories of Ada, I think she could have solved this whole war in a matter of days if you gave her a megaphone. Yes. Yes. I’ll check in. I’ll keep everyone sane, comfortable.” There was the implication of money there, if necessary. He ran his thumb over Tommy’s knuckles and brought them to his lips. Alfie found Tommy’s gaze, and he held it as he kissed Tommy’s skin silently, sealing this promise to look after the family should Tommy fall. 

Tommy had never been so close to death and never felt so alive. In the darkness, Alfie's eyes were two faint gleams, but that look alone seared itself into Tommy's memory, sprang his heart into double-time. When Alfie kissed him, that was even better, even worse; there was so much quiet tenderness contained in the gesture that everything else fell away, even the regret. Later, he knew, it would return. Later, he'd wonder why he let them take so long, why he hadn't tried something earlier, or why he hadn't just fucking grabbed Alfie's hand instead of letting them get separated like someone else, someone that let circumstances dictate— _ Shut up. _ Alfie looked at him, and it quieted. Alfie looked at him, and he knew what to do.

Tommy murmured, "Thank you." Then he leaned forward. A kiss seemed the thing to do, and also. Also, it felt fucking good, good in a way he hadn't felt in years, soft and sure. 

Alfie lowered Tommy’s hand, making sure that the shackles made no noise. He met the pressure of the other’s lips and opened his mouth slightly to breathe out, then breathe him in. His calloused hand cupped the back of Tommy’s skull, keeping him in place as he returned the slow kiss. The bunk creaked as Danny rolled overhead and Alfie jerked back, startled. It took a moment for him to gain his words. 

Alfie settled both his hands over Tommy’s as he stared straight ahead. His face was hot and flushed. He craved a good sob, but there was nothing that tears would do in this situation. What this required was action, not pity or complacency. The gears began turning as he thought of how he could protect him. “Do you speak any German?” He asked just above a whisper, drumming a thumb against the back of Tommy’s hand. “And tell me of your injuries.” 

Tommy closed his eyes and shook his head. Something about this made him want to laugh, or cry: Alfie, to the last, tried to figure out the terms of the fight, a new angle, a new tactic. In their own different ways, they were both well past saving.

Still, he knew better than to think Alfie naive; naïveté couldn't exist in a man of Alfie's experiences and intellect, but hope somehow still could. 

"There’s my wrists,” he said. “Two gunshot wounds in the left shoulder blade, old; and I'm sick. Some kind of...I'm not coughing, it wasn't gas. I'm tired, all the time, and it's not from work. Some of the others had it, at the old camp. Those who had been there for long enough. Everyone got it, if they stayed for more than a month...it doesn't matter." He was trying not to hurt Alfie, as much as he could, but it really didn't matter. He was sure of his own death and he didn't have the time to dwell on it. He put his hand on Alfie's shoulder, thumb sliding under the collar of his shirt to press against the warm skin underneath.

"I wish I could make it easier," he said, and that was all.

Alfie’s jaw set forward and he looked off at nothing in particular. He was doing what he could to get this out of his head, keep the tears at bay. A man who he had felt the closest to in these three long years had slipped away, returned to him, only to fall away forever. Some would relish the chance to find closure, but Alfie felt as though God was spitting in his face. All he could feel was anger and resentment. 

“We’ll think of something before breakfast. You’ll take my morning rations.” He wouldn’t be able to stomach them. Reaching out, Alfie guided Tommy’s face close to his again. 

"All right." There was nothing else to say, and no more time to say it, even if there was: Alfie was kissing him again, and as Tommy kissed him back, he could feel Alfie's emotions in the tense muscles shifting slightly beneath his skin. No amount of tenderness on Alfie's part could fully mask it. A surge of affection rose in Tommy at the familiarity of it: Alfie was a fighter to the end. To the very end. 

And then, in the bed to Tommy's left, some stranger stirred, and Tommy had to break away. 

Alfie sat back and gripped Tommy’s thigh, wishing he could just lay with him until morning. “Get some rest, Sergeant Major. I’ll show you the ropes after breakfast.” He eased himself off of the bed and lingered next to it as Tommy shifted to lay down. Alfie squeezed Tommy’s shoulder for a moment, as he offered up a silent prayer and crept back to his bed.


	2. Gentle, but Not a Gentleman

The morning siren was sounded as the clock struck four-thirty. Alfie had no hesitation in his ability to get up, and he immediately walked back to the bunks that housed Shelby, Owen, and Thorne. “Tommy, hold your wrists up,” he ordered, pulling some of his torn sheet from his pocket. 

Blinking and groggy, Tommy did as he was told, stifling his immediate objection:  _ what's the fucking point? _ Let Alfie do something, anything. That's why he'd told Danny to take care of Freddie, to take care of Alfie, Alfie to take care of Ada, and Ada to take care of all of them. Bless them and their fierce hearts, it was all he could do.

The dread of the inevitable was beginning to set in for Tommy. Although he was prepared for the end, he still anticipated the process with no small measure of fear. It was rational. Likely there would be pain, and worse, humiliation involved, and he'd had his fill of both. Enough to know he didn't want them and he didn't want them anywhere in view of these men. Alfie in particular.

"I know you outrank me, Captain," Tommy murmured. "But I have a task for you. Survive this fucking war, please, and don't let me get in the way."

Alfie scoffed and stood in front of Tommy as the shackles slid up his thin arms slightly. It was just enough to see his bruised, raw wrists, suggesting that the shackles had been on for days, perhaps a week by now. He took the rags from his bedsheets and wrapped each wrist, covering as much skin as the fabric would allow before tying it off. It wasn’t much, but he was hoping it would help, for however long he had. 

“That’s a bold order, Sergeant Major,” Alfie retorted. His eyes flicked up to him as his fingers tied the smallest possible knot on Tommy’s wrist. “I’ll do my best, as I would expect any of my men would.” Alfie lowered his voice; Danny was finally shifting in the bunk to get down. “I don’t want any of your pretty goodbyes yet.” Alfie held Tommy’s gaze for a moment, interrupted as he moved out of the way for Danny. “Let’s head out and get a bowl of porridge while we can, lads. This way.” 

No goodbyes...yet.  _ Good, _ Tommy thought grimly,  _ at least Alfie's well aware, no matter how much he tries to dress it up. _

Tommy followed Alfie close behind, with Danny flanking them, and Freddie falling in not soon afterwards. The way they stuck close together in the crowd of men warmed him both physically and emotionally. As they stood waiting for their food in the noisy mess hall, Tommy’s mind wandered to the events of the previous evening. He wished he could be certain that his friends would have his back if they knew what had transpired the night before. He was terribly late in the game to be trying optimism, but why not? He imagined, for a moment, that they wouldn’t think twice. It was a pleasant fantasy.

The hall was overcrowded, the benches full, a good excuse to squeeze in close to Alfie, thigh to thigh and arm awkwardly situated so that he nearly elbowed Alfie in the ribs several times. It took some effort to choke down the suspiciously chunky porridge, but, mindful that he was being watched and determined to put a good face on it, Tommy choked down his portion in short order. 

Alfie switched his full bowl with Tommy’s empty one as soon as Tommy had finished his own. Alfie had been craning his neck, looking behind him as Germans filed in and out of the mess hall. “Get that down, too, Shelby. You need something to stick to your bones,” he muttered to him, face close to his ear. 

_ Fucking finally. _ Haber, the man who had taken in the new group of prisoners, wandered in with a thermos of coffee in hand. Alfie rose from his seat, gripping Tommy’s shoulder for support as he did. “Oberst Haber,” he greeted, giving him a cordial nod. “If it’s not too much trouble, I would like just a moment of your time. I’m not here to voice grievances.” Alfie forced a chuckle, well aware of his own position of advocate for the other prisoners. “Rather, I’ve found a solution to a problem.” His tongue wet his cracked lips. “Permission to speak,  _ sir _ ?” Alfie added for good measure. 

For once in his life, Tommy tried to do as he was told, though his stomach had shrunk over the weeks of little food and he wasn't able to finish it all anyway. Setting his spoon down, he strained his ears to listen to Alfie. The tone that he was taking with this officer made Tommy both irritated beyond measure and strangely affectionate. It was no small thing for Alfie Solomons to abandon dignity and talk to an enemy. There was some small sacrifice in it.

"Yes?" was all that Haber said. It was well-known that he liked to think himself a Good Man, capital letters and all. At the same time, Haber wasn't a total idiot, nor was he known as a push-over, but he knew well enough that only extraordinary circumstances would make this particular prisoner say,  _ if it's not too much trouble.  _

Alfie glanced around, hoping to not draw attention. His pride was a bitter pill to swallow, but when it came to Tommy’s well being, he was prepared to do worse. Alfie stepped a bit closer to him, drawing himself up as best as he could. Perhaps it was the only way he could shake the feeling that he was licking Haber’s boots. Alfie was malnourished from the diet, but his body was still intimidating from his weeks in the fields. Not as intimidating as the gun on Hager’s hip though. 

Alfie clasped his hands behind his back and gave him a forced grin. “You’re um...Christian, yeah?” Of course he was. 

Alfie’s voice was low. This wasn’t a show for the others. It was a gamble, where Haber had nothing to lose and Alfie had everything at stake. “I thought it may be of interest to you that the man your mates have put in shackles is a man of the cloth. You and I had talked not too long ago about the Father who comes to read on Sundays. Well, how the fuck, ‘suze me, but really, how the  _ fuck _ , can you believe that you’re doing any of their souls any good, when not one of my men speak any fucking German?” Alfie rubbed his mouth and looked back over to Tommy. “He’s qualified to give last rites, recite scripture, take uhh...confession. Call me superstitious, but that seems like an asset that shouldn’t be tossed into the fields until he’s broken.” Alfie shrugged, hoping to give off an air of nonchalance. 

Tommy could hear it all, from where he sat hunched, turned away. Fuck, it hurt to listen. For so many reasons, not least because this sacrifice had to be some kind of declaration of love. Alfie had always been so proud of where he came from, who he was, and now he was arguing on the enemy's terms, on the enemy's turf, pretending to be one of them. 

If Haber realized any of this, it didn't show; he studied Alfie closely, face impassive. "I see," he said finally. "But this one, Thomas Shelby, has been marked out for something else already by Herr Schaub, himself. So, man of the cloth or not, he has another purpose." Haber leaned in slightly; his voice dropped. "I wouldn't mention this to anyone else." 

Then Haber looked past him to Tommy. "As I'm here, I might as well run the errand now. You, with me."

Tommy stood slowly, looking at Alfie all the while and wishing they shared some third language. All he had was fear, and that much he could burn into Alfie, but if it got misinterpreted, then Alfie was likely to do something even more rash and dangerous. So Tommy set his lips in a faint line, nearly smiled with his eyes, and followed Haber away, docilely.

Had he possessed that third language, he would have warned Alfie that this region of Germany was mostly Protestant. While Tommy had indeed been dragged to mass about four hundred times more than he'd wanted to go, thanks to Polly, that Catholicism was hardly going to be a good selling point. Taking confession and all.

Tommy focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Perhaps it was the memory of Polly sitting next to him in the hard wooden pew, with his young face scrubbed ferociously clean, his neatly patched clothes evidence of affection enough to contradict her sharp tongue—or perhaps because he had absolutely no other recourse left, perhaps because he was already so at the end of his rope that a little added humility couldn't mean much—Tommy began to pray for the one man in this whole war that he wanted to save most, and whose destruction he'd likely caused. As with all his prayers, it was mostly arguments, a little pleading: if God could save a generous laugh and a strong hand and a soft voice at three in the morning, then maybe God would be worth something after all.

Or...

He didn't have time to finish that thought.  Haber gathered Tommy along with two other new captives and led them out just past the walls of the camp to the pit. The armed guard that accompanied them was a laughable deterrent to the idea of escape, though judging by the state of the other men, it wasn’t an option even worth fantasizing about. It wouldn’t take much to put them down; there wasn’t any cover. A few bullets each would do. Maybe just one each, if they weren’t moving targets. God knew they couldn’t move very fast.

Haber took a long sip from his thermos and looked at the three men in front of him. “Turn yourselves around and get to the trench.” This pit was shallow, maybe only coming to their waists and stretched out several meters in either direction. Waiting at the bottom of the trench was four worn shovels. 

And so it was that Tommy dug, albeit slowly, for most of the morning. That was all right; they were given some stale mess for lunch, and then turned back out for digging again. Maybe Haber had spotted the smart play; just let Tommy die on his own. But Tommy had no intention of giving him the satisfaction. When Tommy returned to the shelter, he was still somehow on his feet, despite having made a certain enemy of that project's particular overseer for his slowness.  The other men had been left behind; the first two bodies for the new pit. 

The shelter swarmed with prisoners, commiserating, arguing, chatting, playing cards, getting changed, and he couldn't see Alfie anywhere. In the sudden rush of movement and smell all around him, Tommy felt dizzy. He grabbed onto the edge of a table, took a deep breath, and tried to steady himself. 

Danny stepped up behind him and caught him by his elbow, causing Tommy to jump at the sudden touch. He relaxed into it as soon as he realized that it was Danny. "Careful there, Tommy," he murmured, feeling his heart ache at the sight of him. When Haber had taken him first thing in the morning, Danny was almost certain that he would never see Tommy again, and if he did, it would be in the mud. Mouth full of mud, lungs full of mud, eyes full of mud. He couldn't smile though, despite his pleasant surprise. "You look dead on your feet. I didn’t… We didn't think you'd be back." he rambled, continuing to hold him up. "Freddie was sure to keep your bed empty. Let's get you in it, hmm?" Danny curled his lips upward in what felt like a reassuring look, but came out more like a grimace.

The noise in the shelter really was overwhelming, and it made Danny feel ill. It was all better than gunfire, but the overstimulation made him dig his fingernails into his palms until the skin broke. He guided Tommy through the throng of men and back to the bunk Tommy had settled in the night before. There was an extra pillow from Alfie's bed, placed on Tommy's just in case of his return. The brute seemed to be painfully optimistic even when the odds were at their worst. 

Unexpectedly, Tommy’s throat tightened up, and he wordlessly allowed himself to be guided to the straw stuffed mattress, where crumpled up into a heap of half a dozen different aches, none of them worse than the one he felt when he saw the extra pillow, that small token of hope.

"Thanks, Danny," Tommy managed. "You're a good..." Well, anyway. He swallowed hard. "Can you tell the others I'm here? Think they might worry."  _ Might _ was an understatement, but it didn't do to presume affection, that much he still knew.

Danny nodded. "I think Alfie is in the yard somewhere... and Freddie's taken up card games." A genuine smile finally cracked at that. "For a communist, he’s got um… a  _ disproportionate distribution _ of cigarettes." A dry tongue ran across his lips as he lingered for a moment. "I'll get you a cup of water as well, Tommy. Rest up. You need it." He wrung his hands in front of him and rocked on his heels before stepping off to go find Freddie. Alfie was in a mood, and Danny didn't want to be shouted at for bothering him. 

Danny picked up the tin cup from the floor by Tommy’s bed and wandered for a while until he heard Freddie's voice above others, calling bullshit on someone else's hand as he had to fork over a significant chunk of his hoard. "Freddie! Freddie! Tommy came back. I've put him to bed. Have you won any rations or.. a cigarette? I'm fetching him water." 

Freddie sat back, relief washing over him. Miracles were hard to come by in this godforsaken place, but every one he got, he held dear. It was all he could do not to abandon the card table at once and shove all he had in Tommy's face, but Freddie knew Tommy didn't particularly enjoy public shows of affection, and he also knew who held first claim. 

"That's great news," he said, pressing two cigarettes into Danny's hands. "When I'm done here, I'll get Alfie for you. Tommy will likely need a minute to drink anyway."

(Actually, the man that likely needed time was Alfie; Freddie remembered seeing him pacing the yard like a horse driven with a long whip, restless and exhausted and burning in a way that drew the eyes of all the guards and warned Freddie off trying any useless attempts at comfort.)

Two hands of poker later, with his winnings in his pocket, Freddie scanned the yard beyond, shouting for Alfie.

Alfie was still pacing the yard. Even after an afternoon in the field, there was still energy he needed to burn, something to do with his body that wasn't breaking down or causing himself harm. So he walked, briskly, savoring the burn in his legs and chest. It took away any energy to have a tight throat. He was awash with sweat, stealing any possible moisture from his eyes. He glanced towards the shelter at the sound of Freddie's call before setting his jaw and continuing to walk. "I'm busy, Thorne," he shouted back, blowing into his chapped hands. 

"Something you're gonna want to see," Freddie called. Then, studying the set of Alfie's shoulders, the muscles in his neck, he realized that might be misconstrued. "Something  _ good _ ," he added.

Something good? Alfie spat on the ground and stopped walking, pushing his hands over his cropped hair. He brought the hem of his shirt up and wiped his face, cleaning the sweat from his brow and beard. "This better be actual good news. Not just Danny finally having solid shits," he muttered to him, walking over. "What's happened?" 

"He's back," Freddie said under his breath. He knew that those words would mean something to Alfie, so he kept on talking in a low, steady stream of words that he hoped would steady the other man. "No idea what happened after Haber took him away, but Danny was getting him water, so probably not magically much better. That said, he didn't mention any injuries, and he would have, if it was bad." Freddie gripped Alfie’s shoulder. "You go in, tell Danny to piss off if you want. I'll tell the others to give it a minute too." Freddie had never entertained more than a passing fancy for his best friend, especially with Ada always in the back of his mind, but he knew the real thing when he saw it, enough to give Alfie and Tommy a moment as much alone as they could be.

Alfie's face grew hot, but he kept his expression blank and even, only providing a curt nod. He could feel embarrassment rising in his chest at Freddie's words. They must be obvious. Freddie knew something, and it unsettled him. While Freddie seemed to be supportive, the fear of others catching on was vivid. Men had been killed for much less. "Why would I need a minute?" Alfie retorted, words contradicting everything that he was feeling. A pause. "Thank you." Alfie walked to the water spout outside of the barracks and splashed himself, hoping to make himself a bit more presentable before he walked in to find Tommy. 

Freddie understood, and although the  _ thank you  _ was short and curt, that was the part he chose to take to heart. He hoped that all this was not just making it worse, that tying the two men tighter together would keep them both afloat. But Freddie also knew that perhaps it would only drag one of them down when the other drowned.

Alfie walked through the rows of beds until he spotted Danny, hovering, rambling as Tommy drank. "Give him some fucking air, Owen." he sighed, clasping his shoulder. "Go take a walk. He's in good hands." 

Danny hovered only a second longer, caught Tommy nodding at him, and left gladly. He loved Tommy as he loved all his friends, without reserve, but being around sick or dying people made him nervous. He preferred to find a quiet spot outdoors and squat against the wall, shielded by the wind, and have a little time to himself.

Tommy, though, was soaringly glad to not be alone, to have a little time with Alfie in particular. His eyes shouted it. His hands, curled round the mug, tightened till they were nearly white-knuckled. But all his lips said was: " _ Good _ hands? I wouldn't say that."

Alfie sat down at the foot of the bed, folding his arms over his chest. “I suppose goodness  _ is _ subjective,” he hummed, picking at the lint on the blanket over Tommy’s legs. It was an excuse to touch him. His hand smoothed out for a moment, private, reassuring. “Where did they put you for the day?” 

Tommy almost smiled at the touch, and wished there was some natural way he could reciprocate. Of course there wasn't. He tried to relax. It was hard, though, when he had so much he wanted to say, things like  _ I prayed for you  _ which was somehow even worse than  _ I love you  _ and even that, of course, was impossible.

"I was digging," he said. Tommy wrestled with the idea of simply lying to Alfie, not telling him the situation, and trying to handle it himself… but then he realized that if Alfie found out the real circumstances some other way, that would probably lead to both drastic measures and hurt feelings. So Tommy explained it all, as best as he could, doing his best to remind Alfie every now and then that this was better than they'd expected, still not field work, still not him dead in the pit. 

Alfie, for once in his life, was quiet, and let Tommy talk, explaining the entire situation without flying off the handle. “So, you’re alright then? As alright as you’re going to be right now, at least?” He withdrew his warm palm and sat back. “I was worried for you.” _ I prayed as well.  _ “How’s that shoulder doing after a day of work? Think there’s an infection brewing?” 

_ I know you were worried,  _ Tommy didn't say,  _ which is what made it all the worse. And better.  _ There was something to be said for having someone that cared about him like this. There was something to be said about Alfie, specifically, caring. 

"I'm alright. The shoulder's no better and no worse, I think. It doesn't smell, or ooze; that's usually a sign of an infection. It just hurts. But everything hurts. There's nothing strange in it." Tommy looked down at the thin blanket, and then back up, eyes gone something soft. "And you? Are you alright, then?"

“I will be.” Alfie said carefully. It was the closest he would get to admitting that he wasn’t okay. “When this war is over, maybe I will be.” He lifted the collar of his shirt and wiped at his face again, before leaning back against the wall behind the bed. “I’ve been thinking of London, and wondering if anything is going to feel the same ever again. You should have seen Danny in the fields today. They’re going to put that mad dog out of his misery any day now, I swear it.” 

Tommy's lips twitched. He was tired, but the thought of Danny getting shot was still enough to provoke a wince. "I don't...he was doing a little better, I thought. Deep breaths and all." He hesitated, then gritted his teeth and went for it. As worn and bruised as he felt, inside and out, it was not for a Shelby to shirk from anything. "What did he do this time?" 

"He did some deep breaths. He'll get there. He'll get there; I think that he doesn't need to be around guns for a long while when we get home. There was a warning shot fired and he hit the deck, not wanting to get out of the dirt until his heartbeat settled. The soldiers jeered at him, which only rustled him further." Alfie picked a cigarette from his pocket and tried to straighten it out before lighting it with his last match. He watched the flame for a moment, enjoying it until it burnt down to his fingers. A smile curled on his lips as he remembered it was Friday. There was his Sabbath candle for the five seconds that it lasted. "I told him to build a wall that they can't bother him behind." 

Tommy nodded. The water in his cup was long gone along with whatever strength he had left. As ugly as their shared stories were, there was something good in it still, some warmth in the way that neither of them had to face these things alone. 

"Good advice. If only it was that easy to follow." Tommy did his best, of course, but he was an animal still, heart prone to lurches and tremblings and fires and all other kinds of things, even when he could barely move. He didn't see any need to dwell on it, though. He passed over the two cigarettes Danny had given him, one of them fresh and the other one used for only a second. "They don't taste right," was all he said. His fingers brushed Alfie's when he passed them over, and that helped. 

Alfie smiled a bit and puffed on the cigarette between his lips, before holding the tip of the used one to the ember of his burning one. "Take mine then. I think they’ll be all right for your refined palate," he chuckled, placing Tommy's in his mouth. This was perhaps the closest that they could get to a kiss with the sun still heavy in the sky. "So, Mr. Shelby," he breathed, smoke swirling from his nose. "How do you intend to spend the rest of your free evening?" he asked, ready for a distraction, even if it was just all talk. 

"Oh, you know me, Alfie. Thrills only," Tommy said, cracking a small smile. There was something about the cigarette smoke, the way Alfie exhaled and asked so expectantly, that was reminiscent of a different time and place entirely; a night out, properly. But: "I'll be sleeping mostly, trying to stay alive, unless you've got any other ideas." Tommy had some ideas about what to do with the night, he assumed Alfie did as well, but most of them were too dangerous, too immoral, or an enjoyable mix of both. Still, the way he said that last question, it was clear he wouldn't mind a repeat of the last night. That he was hoping for it, actually.

"Would mind putting a record on the Victrola." Alfie smiled back, rolling the cigarette between his fingers as he looked down to Tommy. "A little stroll in the moonlight, but perhaps that can wait until your shoulder recovers. Not dying is certainly a priority right now, isn't it?" Alfie murmured, voice only loud enough for the two of them to share. "Perhaps I can come and look after you again, if it won't disturb your rest too dramatically. I'm sure they'll have you back to digging in the morning." 

"Tonight, you can do anything you like," Tommy said, so softly that it left no room for interpretation.

He refrained from commenting on whatever tomorrow held; he knew well enough that the man he'd been assigned to serve would have his death one way or another. That terrified him and freed him at the same time. As always, these things were out of his hands, but for once, it was a definite end, and he found that comforting. In the meantime, he had this. He had Alfie, and a cigarette from Freddie, and water from Danny, a roof over his head and the Shelby name in his heart. It was enough. It was all enough.

-

Alfie left Tommy to rest, taking time to doze in his pillowless bed as well. He wanted to be able to spend an evening with him without being dead on his feet the following day. The others doted on Tommy for the rest of the evening, and let Alfie be for the most part. It wasn't until around midnight that Alfie got up. He slid from his bed and padded down the row in bare feet. Wordlessly, he brushed back Tommy's hair and slowly climbed into the bed with him, glancing over his shoulder only once to look at the unconscious Freddie. It was a tight squeeze for two grown men to lay side by side, but Alfie was determined to make it work. 

It took Tommy some time to wake. He had been deeply submerged in sleep, but when he did wake, he did without fear, somehow intuiting that the warm body next to his posed no threat at all. When his eyes opened, he couldn't see much, but he reached and found Alfie's chin, rough with the unkempt beard. He smiled sleepily at nothing at all and closed his eyes again. 

"I knew you'd come," Tommy murmured, words thick with sleep, fingers sliding clumsily along Alfie's jaw, his throat, till he finally hooked them under the cloth of Alfie's shirt. He nudged forward till his forehead nestled in Alfie's neck. His breaths began to lengthen immediately, body loose, still so exhausted that the only thing anchoring him to wakefulness and Alfie were his fingers, still holding on.

Alfie couldn't help but chuckle softly, nudging his chin up to plant a kiss on Tommy’s forehead. "Yes, yes. You're very smart, aren't you?" he hushed, moving a hand over Tommy’s waist to rest it on the sloping curve between his hip and rib cage. He pulled Tommy a bit closer to him, almost encouraging him to shift and lay on top of his warm body. "You're still fast asleep." he mumbled. "I'll just lay with you until others stir, if that's all you think you can manage right now." 

"Mm." That sounded roughly like an assent, and then Tommy pressed into Alfie's neck, once, and fell back asleep. 

A couple hours later, he woke, still sleepy, limbs tangled with Alfie's, half on the man and half on the mattress. Unable to tell if Alfie was awake or not, he settled for just putting two fingers to Alfie's throat, finding the carotid artery, feeling the smooth rhythm of his pulse, a music as good as any record. He couldn't tell the time, but he could see the moon out the window, and that was enough reassurance for him.

Alfie grunted at the cool fingers and folded Tommy closer to him, for a moment forgetting where he was. He just knew that there was a warm body next to him, and a heavy sense of security and affection. If it wasn't for the shit mattress under his back, he could imagine being back in his own bed. The smell of sweat and cigarettes after a night with a lover. Still half asleep, he turned his head to catch Tommy's lips for a moment. He pulled back, just enough to sleepily whisper, "my pretty thing,” without opening his eyes. 

That woke Tommy up completely. He opened his eyes and pressed back into the kiss. He accepted the endearment wordlessly with one hand sliding into Alfie's hair, and his tongue begging for the chance to lick curious into Alfie's mouth. He had caught some of Alfie's feeling that this was all somehow safe. Blame it on the full moon. He shifted a little till he was straddling Alfie's stomach, and lifted his shoulders a little, and kissed him even harder. He knew he couldn't go further. He knew it was madness to go this far. But oh, it was worth it to feel Alfie waking up under him like this.

Alfie inhaled sharply as Tommy straddled him. He stole a nervous glance to the bed beside him before grabbing the back of Tommy’s neck, kissing him with an open mouth. His hips arched upwards against the weight of Tommy, cock slowly becoming as alert as his mind. “You’re fucking mad,” he breathed, grabbing Tommy’s face to pull away and look at him. 

Tommy's answer was something hungrier than words; he canted his hips down as he met Alfie's eyes, wild and grim and delicious all in one. "It's where we are," he said, "and it's what you like, isn't it?" Held hard like this by anyone else, Tommy would jerk away, but he found the strength in Alfie's grip oddly comforting. He leaned into the rough skin of Alfie's calloused hands and dared him to break away first. (He should be dead. He knew that he should be dead. And yet he was not and here was the man he wanted, wanting him. The Germans didn't allow any drinks other than water, for fear of what that might lead to, but if they were really worried about intoxicated prisoners, they shouldn't have let Alfie fucking Solomons in.) 

Alfie suppressed a giggle and pulled Tommy back in for a long kiss, this one less violent and more luxurious, savoring every bit of Thomas Shelby. He moved his warm hand down Tommy’s chest and finally stopped at his crotch, cupping and holding him. “Yes. This is what I want. It’s what I’ve wanted for... Fuck, what I’ve wanted since we sat huddled in the trenches with hell raining onto the earth around us.” What felt like a lifetime ago. “Is this what you want? Do you want me, Tommy? I want to hear you say it.” 

The moonlight in from the windows was faint, but enough to show the movement in Tommy's throat as he swallowed hard. Alfie's hand made his blood rush, made his heart hammer, made him deathly aware of how vulnerable he really was to this man. But hearing those words, Tommy knew he couldn't have given himself over to a better man. He leaned down so close that his breath brushed Alfie's throat, it was with a wave of trust and affection, as much as need that compelled him to say: "I want you." 

Tommy closed this with a kiss that set his chest to aching in ways it rarely had before, echoes of a ship sailing, a coffin being lowered. But something sweet there too, sweet and sure. 

They had this moment, the one shining moment he'd asked for, and then Freddie turned over in his sleep, snoring loudly, and broke the spell.

Alfie broke away at the snore, resting his head back on the pillows as he stared up to Tommy in the moonlight. He wrapped his strong arms around Tommy, holding him close. “Perhaps when we have a spot of privacy, hmm?” Alfie murmured, bringing Tommy’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “I’ll take you out to a nice dinner. Get a couple drinks.” Alfie continued, heart aching for home and a reality they couldn’t have. “Then I’ll take you back to my townhouse and be a complete gentleman to you.” 

“Gentle, yes," Tommy murmured, "but not a complete gentleman, I hope."

And even that was too much. Alfie talked low and sweet but touched him where nobody else could see. At the same time, and Tommy set his teeth against it, tried not to buck into Alfie's other hand. "I think you should go," Tommy said, even if one hand was in Alfie's hair, his other was holding Alfie close by his shirt, spoke differently. "This can't hold forever, and if you're going to… if we're going to go any further, I don't think I can stay quiet." Tommy gave Alfie one last kiss. "I did tell you not to let me get in the way of your survival. It'd be hypocritical to go on now."

Alfie withdrew his touch and furrowed his brow. "You think that this can just be shut off like a tap?" he asked, steeling himself slightly. He shifted to his side, letting Tommy slide off of him.  _ What a fucking thing to say. _ He scratched his face and shifted off the bed, swallowing thickly. "You're right though. You're fucking right. I hate to say it," he whispered, adjusting his trousers. "I will say, Tommy, you don't get in the way of my survival... because I've thought of you as a reason to live so many times."

And that had to be true, because Tommy himself had felt the same way about Alfie, so many times. It was true and it was nearly cruel. "You're making this harder than—" Tommy's lips twitched in a smile. He wasn't so far gone he'd lost all sense of humor; he had that, at least. "Worse than it needs to be." This was the part where Alfie had to walk away, he knew. He couldn't resist touching Alfie's knee, first, like that was some kind of consolation. "Go on."

"Yeah. You’re right. I am. Sleep well." He let Tommy touch his knee, but refused to make eye contact. Alfie knew he could see Tommy’s light eyes in the moonlight and if he looked again, it would break his heart. Alfie put on his coat, and grabbed the untouched cigarette before walking out into the brisk air.

Tommy lay very still, feeling like a child; the way that he feared he might be noticed for the way his whole body had been left flushed and trembling. After a minute, he slid his hand into his pants and tried—but. It wasn't the same. He could bite his own lip and stutter it out but it wasn't the same, and so wasn't worth trying. Exhausted as he was, he stayed half-awake, body still hopeful somehow even though he sternly told himself that the whole thing had been unjustifiably reckless, not to be repeated. When the horns sounded to start the morning he was more than grateful to tear himself out of bed. If he died today at least he wouldn't be so fucking frustrated.

-

Except he didn't die. When  Haber grabbed him the following morning, he was brought to  a dark-eyed officer with far better English, Mackensen. Mackensen looked at Tommy dubiously  as Haber introduced him in rapid German. Tommy was to assist this officer in his day to day, working mostly around a cramped office space with documents he couldn’t read . But Tommy got to sit while he typed, and he considered that a victory. He wondered, long afterwards, if Alfie had something to do with it; if maybe, the part of Haber that liked to believe himself a good man looked at Alfie all but begging and saw a goodness too clear to ignore. Maybe it was that. Or maybe they just wanted the weakest of the pack to work in the office, the most easily overpowered. Either way, it wasn’t death. That much was clear. 

When he got back to the shelter, he felt, cautiously, like there might be some kind of future in it, and he refused to let that scare him. He sat down to a card game with Freddie and a couple others, and soon found himself falling back into old patterns, old talk, the same unending series of jabs and ducks that constituted their conversations.


	3. Playing War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and Tommy discuss the past and all that lies ahead over a game of cards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've had the first drafts of these hanging around for a long time! thanks to sleepflower for reminding us we still have stuff left to publish <3

It took Alfie only a day or two to stop moping. Not that anyone knew he was moping, just knew enough to give him a wide berth. Soon he was back with the others, falling in as another piece once again in their dysfunctional machine. As promised, the nonsense between the two of them had stopped. It didn't stop the stolen glances, their third language. Even if the looks weren't necessarily romantic, they were Alfie's alone to have. 

That morning, Alfie had come across a few sheets of paper and a lead pencil and that afternoon he sat at the card table across from Danny. He set the pages down and smiled, tapping the stack with the pencil. "For a cigarette, I'll find you a stamp. Thought you would like to send a note to Birmingham. I'm collecting a page each for an envelope."

Danny burst into a smile, a real one, and Danny's real smiles were always sunshine, so Tommy had to consciously hide a smile in return. It was good to see a little flash of his old friend. 

"I'll spot him," Tommy said. (Most days, Danny wasn't good enough of a liar to win much at cards, and that day was no exception.) "I've got a few under my mattress." He gave Alfie a look, mild and quick, but even that wasn't necessary; they didn't lie to each other and especially not over something as petty as cigarettes. 

"Thanks!" Danny beamed.

“What are you going to write?” 

“Don’t know yet. But I know it’ll be sent straight to Izzy."

“What about you, Alfie?” Tommy ventured a second look. “Who are you going to write home to?”

"I've not given it much thought. I'll see how much paper is left after you lot have spilled your hearts out back home." He set the pencil down for Danny and let his eyes memorize Danny's smile. "You've got every house in Birmingham to check in with, but I may be able to salvage a corner for myself." he winked.

Danny blushed, at which Freddie began to roar with laughter and even Tommy cracked a real smile. Though he was quite devoted to Isabelle now, there were certainly days in the not-so-distant past when he'd been seen bouncing from house to house in Birmingham like a far-too-friendly rubber ball.

Tommy savored the moment, and when the game had ended and the jeers died down a little, he sought Alfie out, stood beside him without facing him, as if they were having a quiet, casual conversation. "You should write to your mother. Whether you're dead or not, it matters. Use my page, if you like; I'm already only having Freddie say that I'm alive and around. Polly and Ada are too smart to be comforted by any detail."

Alfie slid his hands into his pockets and kicked at a small patch of grass in the dirt that was starting to frost a bit, as if that small act of violence would put off the approaching winter. “If I can manage two stamps, I’ll take you up on your offer.” He smiled, glancing at him. “I know she’ll appreciate it, thank you.” He was quiet for a moment fingers rolling scraps of paper in his wide coat pockets. “I haven’t seen a smile on Danny like that in a very long time. I’m glad that light hasn’t completely gone out.” 

"As long as we all stay alive, there's hope yet. That's what my mum used to say." Tommy squinted against the setting sun. "Funny thing is, she's the one that died, and Polly—the one that said there's no hope for some people—was the one that lived. There's a lesson in there, somewhere, if you dig deep enough. But we've done enough digging for one lifetime, haven't we, Alfie?" He had missed this, badly, this companionable feeling. The electricity was still there—Alfie's beard had grown in even more, and Tommy wanted to know what that felt like against his skin—but there was the man himself too, the mind and all their shared memories. "I'm sorry," he said, after a minute. "Almost dying seems to have made me go a little mad." _But I'm here now,_ he didn't add

Alfie laughed at that. Genuine. Almost booming. “Don’t blame your madness on all that. You’ve always been a bit mad.” He rocked on his heels and looked him over, tongue caught between his teeth. “Mad to the core. You wouldn’t do half of the things that you do if you were right in the head. Couldn’t.” He was quiet for a moment. There was that feeling of normalcy. His eyes dragged over Tommy, and he couldn’t resist. “What’s your dance card look like tonight?” he asked, voice a bit lower.

Tommy shivered. He knew what he wanted to say, and he would say it, but for just a moment he let himself relish that split second of silence, the air thick with possibility and the echoes of Alfie's voice reverberating in his ears.

"Now that I've left off dying," he said—and it tasted like victory, that word, dying, now that he walked straight and steady home instead of stumbling, now that his own face and eyes no longer frightened him with their hollowness—"it seems that the work of keeping sanity is mine again. Does that answer your question?"

“I just wanted to ask you to a game of cards tonight. I’m not here to whisk you off,” Alfie cleared his throat and turned a bit towards Tommy to avoid others reading his lips. “Yet.” He rubbed his hands together, eyebrows raised in amusement. “So, if the work of keeping your sanity isn’t keeping you too busy tonight, I’ve got a stack of cards. We’re only missing three from this deck.” 

Tommy looked out over the dismal yard and smiled crookedly at nothing at all. "You sure they're not lost up your sleeve, Alfie?" But he pushed off the wall and stood as if to follow wherever Alfie led. He'd not follow most men. So that was something.

“Lost up my sleeve?” Alfie asked through a chuckle. “You’re welcome to check for me,” he smirked, taking him to a table out near the empty mess hall. “How will this do?” He asked, pulling a card box from his jacket pocket. “Do you have a preference in what game?” Alfie sat himself in a chair that was just out of the spotlight of a hanging lamp.

"You know me, Solomons," Tommy drawled, leaning back and watching Alfie's hands shuffle the cards with surprising (and alluring) dexterity. "I'm flexible." 

Over Alfie's shoulder, he could see Freddie poking his head out of the shelter, inquisitively, and raised an eyebrow. Freddie spotted them, then went back inside. It was nice that they cared whether he lived or died, Tommy thought irritably, but annoying that they seemed to still mind him like a child even though he could damn well walk on his own now.

“Seems cliche, but how about War? I want something that I don’t have to think much on. I’m just interested in your company.” Alfie started to split the desk, going back and forth with dealing cards until they had equal stacks. “Do you know how to play that one?” 

Tommy sat down, enjoying the relative ease of his body, the fewer aches, the faded bruises. He'd never appreciated it before, something as simple as sitting down and leaning on the back two legs of a chair like a kid in school, the balance that he had, the strength—but he appreciated it now. 

"Of course I know how to play War." He smiled, a little challenge sliding into it. "Question really is whether you know or not. We can find out when this is all over, right? I imagine London and Birmingham will bump up against each other, sometimes." And yeah, his was the tiniest patch of territory, but Polly was smart and strong and could hold it and grow it, and he had the drive to explode it all from there. He had plans now, definite ones, good ones, ones that would more than provide for all needs of himself and his family, and yet he found himself trying to slot Alfie into that picture, any way he could. As friend...or as foe.

Alfie’s amused smirk blossomed into a smile again as he finished dealing the cards. He began to straighten his own stack, waiting for Tommy to do the same before revealing his card on the table. Relatively high. A ten of spades. “I suppose it will. Seems like a good enough excuse to take you out in the city. I’ve heard you and John talking of horses. Still thinking about your horses, Tommy?” It wasn’t condescending, his tone. Genuinely curious. 

Tommy shook his head. "That was a while ago." Before he was captured, when they all thought the war would last a year at most. He didn't quite know how to explain the difference now, though. Half of him wanted Alfie to understand more than anything—wanted Alfie to understand and agree or—or say that he had felt something similar—and half of him was just dead scared.

For once, he ran with the fear. "What about you? Get a good job somewhere, set your mum up in a nicer place, marry a nice neighborhood girl?" And that last part slipped out uninvited, but at least he was able to make it convincingly light.

Alfie took the two cards now on the table and flipped over another card onto the grubby tabletop. “No...I think I’ll take a loan and start my own business. Booze maybe. I think about how much money I wasted in these last years on rum. Perhaps wine, sell it to the temples, cathedrals, and alcoholics.” He smiled, leaning forward on his elbows, pausing as he considered Tommy’s suggestion. “Maybe a girl. Maybe no one. Maybe I’ll find another bachelor to room with. I dislike living on my own. I’m a pack animal, myself. After having 200 bunk mates, a quiet home seems...unsettling.” 

Alfie turned his card around, squinting at some German scrawled on the side of it. “You’re fantasizing about marrying? Is that what you want when you’re home?” 

Tommy smiled at the idea of such a thing as a quiet home, thinking of Polly scolding Finn who was likely protesting something that John had made him do, while Arthur and Ada laughed at it all. And then he thought about Alfie, such a bold, brash man, always loving the hubbub of a crowd, loving attention, loving (though he didn't say it) the rough respect and affection of the other soldiers. He thought about Alfie growing up in a quiet house, and found it an awful idea. Maybe they could find room for Alfie, somehow. (It was a disastrous idea, but he couldn't let go of it anyway.)

Even if they both went their separate ways when the war ended, talking about marrying someone else seemed wrong, sacrilegious even. So, Tommy ignored that question and sailed ahead to the second.

"I want an end to obeying orders," he said. "I'd rather give them, or have none at all. If I'm going to suffer for incompetence, it should be my own. Not least because I can do better than most of these generals." For the sake of looking busy, Tommy flipped his own card, found he'd lost that round, and handed his card over to Alfie. "I doubt either of us will get what we want when this is all over," he said. He probably shouldn't be going over things as delicate as doubts with Alfie, even if they were in the same army, even if they shared the same bed. But he felt Alfie might understand it. "Why should things be any different?"

Alfie swallowed without thinking at Tommy’s words. It was true, he knew it, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear. He flicked his card over to Tommy next, letting him take the stack. “I don’t reckon we will get what we want, Tommy. Nah. Things will go on as they have.” There was a touch of gently mocking in his tone. How could things continue as they had been after the world had been turned upside down beneath them? “Biggest difference I can anticipate is seeing you stick out as we run in our separate, but close, circles. Same...races, parties…” A pause. “I can’t see you drinking in London, though.” He smiled to himself and stroked his beard. “You’re so proud of your local piss.” Alfie’s eyes flicked back up to Tommy’s, playfulness obvious. He set another card down, fingers lingering. 

He knew what he was doing, he wanted to see how long Tommy would allow it. 

Tommy had so many objections available to him, not least that he knew that their togetherness was a product of the war and the war only. He knew the only times their social circles ever could overlap was in the ranks. He'd never found himself at either race or party in London. But maybe they could change that. If they could survive this, they could do about anything.

"Better a proud man sober, than caught drunk in a Londoner's party. I know you lot well enough." But there was a fondness there. Tommy put down his own card, then waited. 

Alfie laughed at that and lost another hand to Tommy. What he wouldn’t give to have Thomas Shelby drunk at one of his parties. Alfie knew that he wouldn’t be in much better shape, going off his track record. He could picture it now, the two hastily kissing each other, sloppy from drink. Alfie would be a bit rough, never intentionally, but sometimes his own strength got away from him. A shuddering breath escaped him as he forced himself to remain present. 

“Do you now, Shelby? Go on. Tell me about ‘my lot.’” He smirked, claiming the next round of cards. 

He could tell from the look on Alfie's face that Alfie was thinking exactly about getting him drunk. He would've liked to point out that getting drunk wasn't necessary—fuck, he'd been this close to dead, iron deficient, and sleepy as hell and the man had still, somehow, managed to make him lose his mind. Tommy kept his voice mild, and reminded them both of the war, and ignored the instinct to egg Alfie on. (Though the idea was so tempting...) "Far as I remember, London boys are half too concerned with fashion, and they try too hard at being clever. But as long as they can shoot, I suppose that's all that matters. We’re all here now."

“In our hundreds." Alfie picked a card up and tossed it to Tommy without bothering to look at it. "Honestly, I feel like if we organized enough men to cause issues for them...well, a good handful would get out. It's also possible that a handful would be tossed in the pit." He was quiet for a few moments. "See what information you can gather from the office if you feel confident about it." 

Tommy looked down, took both cards without really seeing them. "I was meant for the pit weeks ago. The pit doesn't bother me." If this was what Alfie wanted, this would be the one thing Tommy could give him, unalloyed by some painful side effect. What Alfie needed was a plan to put his mind to, a fight to throw his body behind. And for the first time in a while, Tommy was grateful. He wanted to be the one to do this. "I'll see what I can get you.

"Good man." Alfie had a shimmer of hope flicker across his face for a moment, just a moment. A good fight, that's what he needed. It was something to stew over while his body was broken by work. He knew he had to keep his mind sharp and strong. "I ask though, that you don't say that about the pit. Either we're both out or I'll join you there." he added, looked up to Tommy's smudged face.

Tommy saw that look and dropped his own gaze immediately. "Better write yourself a will.” They both knew it was true. He wouldn't make it twenty miles, likely couldn't even handle a full week in the fields if he ever got taken off desk duty. His mind was full alive but his lungs weren't half what they used to be. 

He put down a card and it didn't matter. He leaned away in his chair a little and it didn't matter. Surely Alfie wasn't going to...but as soon as that thought came up, the second followed just as swiftly: he was. He was exactly that stubborn, goddamn him. Tommy's throat tightened.

Alfie watched Tommy's apple bob and his gaze flick off to God knows what. Some distant part in his brain to remove him from the present conversation, most likely. "A will," he repeated. "What possessions do I have that anyone would care about? Anything in London would go to my next of kin, my mother." Alfie gathered the cards he had collected and shuffled them, starting a new hand. "Let's see. Danny can have my tin cup. I will leave the cigarettes to Thorne, only because I know he'll share them. I'd leave you with my jacket and all of the rubbish and writings I've stuffed into the pockets. How's that for a will? Write it up for me and notarize it when you're next in the office." 

"You do realize, if we're together in the pit there won't be any use in trying to leave me anything," Tommy said mildly. He glanced back over Alfie's shoulder. There was nobody around, save for a couple bored-looking guards. Still, he found himself lowering his voice. It seemed like the thing to do. "You'd better give me those rubbish writings now, because if we're going to do this, there won't be a later."

It had grown colder, but Tommy just pressed his arms close to his body and hunched down a bit against the wind. It was quiet here in a way he couldn't get anywhere else. He wanted this to last as long as it possibly could.

Alfie smiled and chewed his cheek. "What? Not interested in the coat?" he asked, nodding to Tommy's body language. "It's rubbish though, really. Scattered thoughts that I don't want to forget. Perhaps a poem or two if I haven't tossed them on a fire." He slid his hands into his pockets and felt at the tiny crumpled balls of paper. There were maybe eight on either side. He pulled out three of the more sizable balls. "Pick one," he said. "I can't show you all my cards at once, now, can I?" 

When Tommy made his pick, Alfie handed it over, blood rushing as he thought over what could have been written down. A nervous chuckle escaped. "Quite a gamble." 

_I've been given full disclosure._

_You're a carcinogen, and yet,_

_I'm all too eager to pull you out,_

_Light you up, and let you fill me._

_Maybe it's because I'm a fool._

_The rattling coughs that fill the void,_

_are more comforting than my silence._

_You fester and take up space._

_The doctors will slice me open,_

_hoping there's something left to save._

_But all pick tissue,_

_has turned black._

Tommy read it over slowly, with a calm deliberation that belied the churning in his gut. When he finished, he read it again, careful to catch all the details. 

At last, he said, without looking up: "I don't know why I thought you were a romantic, but." He stopped himself from swallowing. "It's not the first time I've been wrong about you."

Alfie wet his lips, heart hammering a bit more as he reached for the paper. "Fucking hell, which is it?" he asked, finding that where Tommy held it was just slightly out of his reach. He snapped and held his hand flat, expecting Tommy to surrender it like a child caught with contraband in school. He could feel flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He was so warm that he was afraid he was steaming in the cold. He could see a bit of the words through the back of the thin newspaper. _Fuck._

Tommy handed the scrap back to Alfie, saw him blushing, and looked away out of politeness, or something close to politeness. Instead, he reached into his pocket and came up with his box of cigarettes. He had three left, but he had plenty of reason to believe he might as well use them up now. He lit one for himself, exhaled slow, and then offered Alfie one with a questioning look

"It's not a rosy picture, is it," Tommy murmured.

Alfie looked at the pack and shook his head only seeing a few left. “When have we ever been rosy, Tommy?” He asked, now shuffling the desk to keep his hands busy. “It’s for you, you may as well keep it. Pin it up in your bunk for all I care.”

"Think I will," Tommy said, and he smiled a little at the idea. Public, in a way they couldn't be. As for the poem itself, he didn't know if it gave him any comfort. There was an intimacy in the metaphor, but a dread one; more a campfire story than a fairytale, being the disease. But Alfie thought of him, and that was something. The newspaper was an old one, and even then, Alfie thought of him. Tommy wished he had something to give in return, but he'd never been much of one for fiction or poetry, and the only souvenir of the time away he had were the scars around his wrists.

One of the guards shuffled over and barked a general order. Tommy still didn't speak good German, but he could guess at the curfew. Putting away the cigarettes, he stood. 

"Another game tomorrow?" he said. There was no polite way to ask about tonight.

“Name that time and place and I’ll be there.” He assured, eyeing the soldier as he shrugged out of his coat. His steps fell heavy as they walked back to the bunkhouse. How much time had passed? Hours most likely, but he felt like he hadn’t been away for more than a few moments. After the coat slipped from his shoulders, he moved behind Tommy and placed it over his shoulders. If he wanted to read everything in one night, he could, but he would leave that up to Tommy to decide.

It was the most gallant thing Alfie had ever done for him, in the sense that it was an unnecessary but handsome gesture. Tommy didn't fully understand it, either, till he got his hands in the pockets. Once alone, he read those scraps of paper all at once, even though he knew he likely shouldn't. It was overwhelming. But he also was beginning to lose certain forms of self-control. He could hear Alfie's voice and feel Alfie close to him when he ran his fingers over the ink-smudged pages, and so he didn't stop till he'd read everything at least twice.

Alfie kept his distance that night. Not all papers were about Tommy. Some were thoughts for his mother, some were memories from home that he couldn't bear to let slip away. There were prayers written down in his clunky and out of practice Hebrew. The square letters looked so foreign in comparison to his tight English cursive. Though Alfie tucked himself into his bunk early, trying to get more than a few hours, he watched how Tommy kept the large coat over his skeleton frame. Tomorrow, when he took it back for work, it would most likely smell like him. He shifted on his cot, a small smile on his lips at the stupidly sentimental thought. 

Danny noticed the coat on Tommy immediately and tried to contain his wide smile, finding it slip out any time he caught Freddie's gaze. "Unrolling pocket lint?" he asked, taking off his boots before climbing up into the bunk over Tommy. "Heh, how we stay busy now, eh Tommy? I won’t know what to do myself when I get home." 

"Something like that," Tommy said mildly. He didn't catch Danny's look to Freddie, had been too busy concentrating on the small letters, and so thought this was just a bit of Danny's usual rambling. That was a small mercy; had he known exactly what was going on, it would have spoilt his enjoyment entirely.

"Don't worry, Danny boy, we'll find you a good place to keep you busy." He was confident that if they could make it out of here alive, they could do anything they liked, including finding Danny a little farm in the countryside or some such. He could fix everything for everyone if he just got half a fucking chance.

Putting away the last of the papers, Tommy pulled the blankets up over his shoulders and settled down into his pillow. It was a little ridiculous to wear the coat to bed, but he could always complain of the cold and be believed. He closed his eyes, content.


	4. Loyalty Is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A painful discovery in the officers' files causes Tommy to orchestrate a plan that will change the fate of his comrades. 
> 
> Co-conspiracy is close to intimacy, isn't it?

Alfie opened his eyes at the sound of the morning siren and swallowed thickly. The pressure behind his eyes and in his sinuses was incredible. He could feel his throat was raw as he tried to clear it.  _ Fuck. _ He wiped at his face with the long sleeves of his grey shirt and sniffed. Something nasty had blossomed in the middle of the night, and with the winter settling in, he knew it was going to be hard to shake. He rolled to his side and grabbed his tin cup from under the bed. There were usually some fires burning outside. He just needed to boil some water to drink with his breakfast. God, what he would do for a splash of whiskey to add. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned dramatically as he reached for his boots. 

Tommy wasn't able to hear that groan through the bustle of other men waking up, but he could see the worn expression on Alfie's face and the way he wiped his nose with his sleeve. He cursed as he got to his feet and dressed hurriedly. He shouldn't have taken that fucking jacket, and now look what had happened. 

He met Alfie outside, warming himself by the fire. They hardly had ten minutes before breakfast, but he wanted to offer whatever comfort he could.

"I'll keep my eye out for information in the office today," he said. "I'll find anything I can. Here." He handed back Alfie's coat, although he'd kept a few scraps of paper for himself. Not the most important ones, just—just a couple poems and one memory and one of the ones written in a language he couldn't read. He didn't have any particular rationale about why he kept what he kept. Didn't want to think of it too closely. But certain things he wanted to keep close.

Alfie took the jacket back and put it on, immediately smelling Tommy on the fabric. It made his lips curl in a small smile. "Don't do me too many favors. Remember, only if you're confident in your sticky fingers. You do owe me a properly written will though, don't forget that." He fumbled with the buttons a bit before looking down at the steaming cup of water. "Did you sleep well?" he asked, reaching into the edge of the fire pit with his calloused fingers. He pulled out the cup and held it, using the sleeve of the coat. 

"Yes," said Tommy, biting back two things at once: an objection that he was always confident of his own criminal abilities, and that Alfie should be too; and something softer about the way that coat had made him feel as he fell asleep. (The feeling: He could be alone, he knew that much. He knew how to be a leader and alone even among people who loved him, mentally locked off in part to have his own plans secure. But with Alfie, he didn't have to be this way. He could come back at the end of the day and share information unreservedly and be confident that Alfie wouldn't act rashly or make terrible risks. It was not unlike what marriage was supposed to be, though he'd never seen a successful iteration in his own family. John and Martha perhaps. Perhaps.)

He glanced over at Alfie and took in his face, grizzled and strange with his half-grown beard, his rash, his runny nose. Ugly almost, like that, but Tommy still just wanted to bring Alfie close and make him understand that feeling, maybe by kissing him hard or kissing him soft or maybe just by holding him. He knew it would feel ridiculous and wrong to try and put it into words. 

He looked back down at his own cup, and sipped, and came up with something not half as good, but better than nothing. 

"The bedtime reading helped, maybe," he said. 

Alfie felt self conscious as Tommy stared at him, and he wiped at his face with his sleeve again before taking a long sip of the hot water. Those fucking notes. Of course he read them all in one go. The tips of his ears reddened and he stuck a hand into his pocket to feel for what was left. "Such a scholar. Your eyes are going to go and then you’re going to look like an old man in specs," he teased, silently counting the small rolled bits that were left. "Which story was your favorite?" he asked, voice quiet and eyes still bright, despite his miserable disposition. 

The ghost of a smile passed over Tommy's face, and he clutched his own mug tighter. As if he could pick. As if, in the kaleidoscope, the constellation, the entire starlit universe of things that Alfie was and could be, Tommy could find one thing. One thing. As if any part of Alfie was extricable from any other part. 

"You and that stray dog," Tommy murmured. "I can see it now." His eyes flickered over to Alfie and he wondered, for a moment, if Alfie felt any of the same way about him. There was a great tenderness there, beyond doubt, but it remained unformed to Tommy, something he didn't dare ask about and wouldn't have known how to ask about if he did dare. He didn't have these ways of making himself known. "I'd write, if I could," Tommy shrugged. "But I'm all prose—" 

Tommy was interrupted by a cough rumbling from Alfie’s chest. The captain turned his body from the guard tower and shook a bit as he muffled it. "All prose?" he repeated, forcing down the rest of his water. "Indeed. You wouldn't be able to get all the thoughts in your head onto scrap.” Alfie spat in the dirt and nodded over to the kitchens. “Shall we get our morning potato and porridge?" 

_ Pulling through.  _ Now Alfie was talking about his life in just the way Tommy used to talk about his own, and Tommy hated it, hated it, hated it. He hated the way that Alfie turned away from him when he coughed, trying to shield him from it, as if Tommy couldn't hear the way it hurt, feel the way it hurt. He hated these fucking gun towers and these fucking guards and everything else keeping him from the touch, because if he remembered one thing from that particular flavor of almost dying, it was how good Alfie had felt next to him in the bed, how that warmth could translate into something not quite medicine but still effective. Also Alfie's hair had grown long to the nape of his neck and Tommy wanted to touch it.

He rubbed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. He was tired. Put it down to being tired. 

"Yes," Tommy said, and that was that. They got separated in the line and he let it happen, bolted his food down quickly and got to work a little early. The spying, it turned out, was not so difficult, perhaps because the soldier he served was so used to thinking of Tommy as sickly, or perhaps because Tommy had simply been longing for at least a little crime for, oh, years now. 

Of course, once he found what he was looking for, all the joy of trespassing vanished. Once he found what he was looking for he felt sick in a way that lingered beyond the time the crime was over, and beyond his brief lunch break, and beyond the end of his work. At dinnertime he arrived late and stared at the line with a vaguely lost expression. In truth he was planning, but it wasn't a plan he was proud of.

Alfie sat at the end of a long table, quarantining himself as much as possible with the rule of not leaving the hall with utensils. He hunched over his bowl of thick stew and kept his eyes glued to Tommy as he wandered in and stood in the thinning line. The fields had taken the wind out of his sails. He sat gaunt, subdued, and now with Tommy back at the camp safely, he felt like he could go to his bunk at last. He scraped the bottom of the bowl, not missing a drop as he shoveled the mass into his mouth. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tommy watched, lost in his own thoughts till Danny sidled up beside him. Tommy hadn’t noticed, but Danny had left his spot in line to go back and stand with Tommy. 

"Lost in thought there, Tommy?" he said. "I could hear your gears turning up at the front." 

"Just wondering if it's different," Tommy began, and then realized who he was talking to. Danny wasn't maliciously untrustworthy, but Danny wasn't wholly ready for secrets, either. Not that Tommy could think of anyone ready for secrets. Not even Alfie. 

Tommy knew what he had to do now, though, and that was a relief. Truly, having a clear idea of what he needed and what he wanted, how they were different, and how he was going to achieve the former—this was something he hadn't had in months, and he could feel the change even in his body, in the way he moved. He tried not to let it show.

It wasn't till late in the evening that he sought Alfie out; that seemed proper, like the wait somehow made what he was about to do more acceptable. The wind that night was light, the air only a little cold. Tommy himself felt none of it. 

Initially, he'd thought that he would sit down and drive straight and brutal to the point, but Alfie's dwindled strength brought out other instincts in him, and for once the soft had a hidden sharpness that made it permissible. He sat closer than was necessary. "You should see a doctor," he said, which was almost a joke.

Alfie made no attempt to scoot over on the bench as Tommy took a seat beside him. He did mind the tin cup in his hand, switching the concoction downwind from Tommy. His home brew of tea was steeping, as the fire in front of him was starting to wither away. “I would, but his schedule is always impossible,” he retorted, body relaxing against Tommy. He tilted the cup in his hand and showed him the contents. “Lemon, practically mush in the peel. S’a bit of orange peel in there, onion from the fields,” his monotone reflecting his excitement of drinking it. “What I wouldn’t give for the hot water and whiskey in the trenches. Freddie said this ought to do the trick though.” He sniffed it and wrinkled his nose, setting it aside like a child with medicine. 

Alfie wiped at his face with his sleeve before folding his arms over his chest. He leaned back against the building behind him and turned his head back to Tommy. “Get on with it. You’ve got that, um...” He gestured at his face for unnecessary emphasis. “...look.” Alfie has always thought that Tommy had excellent control of his expression from his nose up, but it was always his mouth that gave him away. Tommy had been thinking, and the way his jaw was set told Alfie that Tommy’s joke at his health was a poor preamble. 

"You can have your hot water and whiskey soon enough, Alfie. 'Course, there's the thirty percent chance we all die, but there's urgency to it, now." Tommy dug into his pocket and produced a letter, handed it over to Alfie, and leaned back as well.

"I found all the home letters they've been keeping from us. Filed away pretty neatly, too, some of them with notes written in the margins in German. Apparently, someone's had the idea that they can scrape them for information, write a report, and get a promotion for it; I've seen an early draft of the report and it's not half-bad. People's mothers are forever talking about their brothers who are in Rouen, and so on." Just then, as Alfie was reading the letter, Tommy saw the expression on Alfie's face change, so he shut up.

Thing is, this wasn't the right letter. If Tommy was being honest, he would hand Alfie the letter that had Alfie's name written on it, the one from Alfie's mother. But he knew Alfie well enough now to know that he took his role as Captain seriously, even if the prison uniforms nominally leveled all ranks. Alfie might not sacrifice his fellow-troops on a harebrained breakout scheme to help his own mother, but he might help Tommy, especially if it had the side benefit of helping others escape. Tommy knew that Alfie cared for him too, and he was willing to acknowledge it just this once, when he used it as a weapon. It felt acceptable that way.

The letter Alfie read was mostly this: Anna and Michael had been taken. Polly wrote it all very factually, although he could feel her pain and hatred vibrating through the words; she didn't call the neighbor a bitch, but she noted that the neighbor had said you will not be forgiven; she didn't editorialize on the policemen either, though she wrote their first and last names along with their middle initials, as if she wanted the both of them to be exact and eternal in their ability to spot the names of these particular men on any sheet of paper they might encounter. The business, Tommy's primary concern, had limped along well enough without him; this was an entirely different disaster, and one he hadn't accounted for.

He waited till Alfie was done reading to speak.

"Anna's the most like me," Tommy said, "next to Ada, maybe. And she can sing anything once she's heard it twice. Michael's too little to do much, but he's Arthur's favorite. When John teases him, he yells about what he'll do to us all when he's older, and Arthur will give him a lump of sugar, like he's a horse." He spoke in the same manner that Polly wrote, factually. He knew perfectly well he was hurting Alfie as well as hurting himself, or rather that he was hurting Alfie because he was hurting himself. But that was rather the point. Urgency. "I don't know how they raise children in orphanages, but I doubt there's lumps of sugar involved. For a week straight, we had to take turns, sleeping at the foot of their bed, you know that? Then it finally got out that Eddie Farrow had told them some story of a monster would come in through the window and eat them in their bed, and none of us were young enough to lay it on Eddie, except for John. So John came home with his knuckles all busted and Polly sat us all down and gave us a long talk about how monsters aren't real." Tommy paused. The air had gone very still, though even without the breeze, it was cold. "First time I remember her lying to us. Doubt it was the last." 

Tommy reached over and took the letter back. "Drink your medicine, Alfie."

Alfie let the letter slip through his fingers as Tommy reached forward to take it. His hand ran over his face again before he took the watered down paste in a shot, leaving the peel at the bottom of the tin cup. He knew why Tommy was telling him; it may as well be a formal call to action. The date on the letter was recent enough. "I know that you’ve been brooding since you found this. Whatever it is that you're fucking planning, I won't allow you to do it without me. Though, I'm assuming the reason that you're telling me this at all is to get my help." A staunch business man, this was usually the point where Alfie usually asked about his own benefits. This time though, freedom was enough, as was the knowledge that Tommy's kin were safe. More than enough. "What do you need from me?"

"The men," Tommy said simply. He knew perfectly well that any plan coming from him was likely to be turned down on the spot by a majority of the men who had only met him in the camp. They may have known his reputation, vaguely, but they had only seen him barely hold onto his own life by the skin of his teeth. Clever words or no, it wasn't enough. Alfie, on the other hand, with his mixed swagger, affability, bulk, and violence, had easily become a larger-than-life character to many of the men as well as a general favorite. And he had been long enough at the camp to earn the men's trust, which was most important. Hell. Tommy had no use for orders, or following them, but he could see how Alfie had become a Captain despite being incapable of decorum. If there ever was anyone whose commands Tommy might be willing to follow outside the bounds of war, it'd be Alfie. 

"Loyalty is everything," Tommy said simply. If only one man ratted, they'd all go down in flames. "I can get the keys to the armory, and from there I can set fire to the officer's quarters. It's a decent diversion. But the bulk of the work will be tunneling, and that takes discipline, work, and secrecy." 

A guard walked by them. Without pause, Tommy switched smoothly to talking of stateside nonsense. 

"Polly seems to be doing much better now that her husband's dead. That's one of the things I'm most angry about missing. When I was smaller, I always told myself I'd have a piss on his freshly dug grave. But I suppose all men have regrets." 

The guard moved out of earshot, and Tommy resumed planning. "At first, the novelty of it will energize them, as will the possibility of getting out. But then the stress will set in, and they'll argue about who deserves first place on the list to escape, and they'll get tired of digging at night when they could have been sleeping. When you hit your limit persuading them, talk to me. I'll steal some more letters, and that should help." He looked sideways at Alfie. "Most of us won't make it out. But the way I see it, we'll get more than a few."

"The chances of making it home alive feel just the same as if we sat and did nothing. The risk is worth it," Alfie murmured, crossing his ankles after he kicked some of the burnt logs closer to the center of the fire. He was already plotting himself, throwing together a list of men who were healthy and reliable enough for the project. Five came up off the bat, including Freddie and Danny. He looked at the area behind Tommy's head, the guard posts, the patrols. "Have you thought of where the tunnels will begin and end?" he asked. He could only think of a couple spots that weren't monitored at all hours. Inside of the sleeping quarters, but there was the risk of other men ratting. There was a spot down near the showers and latrine, but it was visible from a couple posts. It also wasn't like there was access to proper shovels... Alfie shook his thoughts, trying to not dishearten himself before they even began. "I think the smaller we keep the operation, the better. We can guarantee those who helped tunnel to get out first, then tell a few others... Only a few so there isn't a mob to it. Whatever sob story in letters you think deserves it."

"Northwest corner of the sleeping quarters, under Danny's bed," Tommy said. It wasn't the kindest thing, using Danny's nightmares as cover for any slight scuffle or sound that might come about, but it was useful and that was an end to it. "The letters I'll hold for at least four days before releasing; you have the men until then. The worst obstacle is going to be removing dug dirt. We can press some of it into the walls of the tunnel, but we'll still have masses of it to get rid of on the sly." He continued to talk over the details of his plan for a while, but eventually found that he had to stop. Alfie was keen and for all the right reasons, but Tommy needed to keep some of those details to himself. So he leaned back, had a cigarette, and turned to other matters. "Where will you go, if you make it out?"

Alfie watched Tommy smoke, admiring how his throat moved, how the cold only exaggerated the cloud that billowed from his lungs. He mulled over the question. Where would he go? "If the landlord hasn't presumed me dead, I should still have a flat in the city. I'll go see my mother, after all of this. Not permanently, but… Well, it’s been a while." He wrapped his coat around tighter and thought of Polly's urgent writing. "I want to go to the coast, get away from smoke and cold for a while. I want to think of only the sound of the ocean, only the feel of the sand. Have you ever been?"

"Does boarding a ship to France count?" Tommy said, though he knew full well the answer. He'd seen pictures in a museum once, with Polly, of the kind of beach Alfie met. Sunshine, generous. The south of France, although a stubborn irrational part of him still found it difficult to believe that the country could be home to anyplace beautiful after what he'd seen there. He made a slight gesture with one hand, as if to say oh well. "One day. You want to take me there?"

The corner of Alfie's mouth turned up at the question. Yes. Of course he did. He thought of laying next to Tommy on a large quilt, close enough that their hands touched when they were resting at their sides. He could imagine Tommy jumping over waves, riding them in, all smiles and sun. "I don't think boarding to France is the best example," he smirked. "I'll take you." His voice was quieter now, though no one was in earshot. "Borrow a sun hat from your Aunt Polly so you don't burn and freckle."

Tommy gave Alfie a calculating look out of the corner of his eye. "You don't like freckles? Mm." Leaning back, he exhaled just a little more smoke. "Joking, I don't give a fuck." A crooked smile spread slow and lazy across his face, wide in a way his smiles rarely were. He knew there was much work ahead of him, and he'd not truly relaxed inside himself for months now, but this was the closest thing, a partner in crime. Some of it was still down to Tommy and Tommy alone, but some of it was wholly only Alfie's and yet Tommy still considered it a job done, as much as if it had been his own responsibility. It was something, this. It was really something.

"Now, now, you can't blame me. I'm just a product of my environment. Beauty industries have been pushing this porcelain skin agenda for decades, now. I promise, I'm not prejudiced, though. I've seen you burnt and freckled, Tommy Shelby." He kicked at the dirt again, quiet for a moment to keep most of his thoughts to himself. "And I still shared my bunk with you. I'll take flesh and blood over a doll any day."

"You are many things, Alfie, but none of them is passive," Tommy said dryly. "More likely to make your environment a product of yourself than the other way around. But noted; I'm preferable to a doll. Shudder to think of what one could even do with a doll, but I won't make inquiries." He looked over at Alfie, his smile a small thing now, but immeasurably fond. "Until tomorrow, Alfie." He passed over a single cigarette. "Come to me with a head count." Another guard was approaching, and with the smallest brush of fingers over the cigarette, Tommy sauntered off in the opposite direction.

Alfie pocketed the cigarette, knowing that it could be used in negotiation rather than bothering with irritating his lungs. He hoisted himself out of his chair and made his way to the card table to find Freddie. He could at least get a couple on board before morning, that way they could begin the project by the end of the week. 

_  
The floor board under Danny's bed could be taken up with only one or two. The nails would need to be saved...   
_  
He wet his lips and put a heavy hand on Freddie's shoulder. "Gather your winnings, I think that you've taken advantage of these poor blokes enough." He forced a chuckle and patted the shoulder under his hand. "I need a word, and one of those cigarettes."


	5. Like Waves on the Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of an era.

Alfie did good work. It took a few days before Tommy could be sure, and even then, the first night was hard. More than once, he felt sure that the earth was going to swallow him up again, convulse in a crash of sound and then fill up his nose, his mouth, his lungs. But to an outsider, he merely had a shorter nights’ sleep than most, and the tunnel had a tidy beginning underneath Danny’s bunk. 

From then on, Tommy worked hard and did his best to avoid Alfie in the swing of business. Getting sleep was a good excuse. A few carefully-selected letters got out about halfway through the tunneling project, and shortly after that, he, Freddie, and Alfie made a list of the prisoners that needed to get out first, either because of their health or because of some family emergency discovered in the letters. But the exact mechanics of the plan Tommy refused to share, giving everyone just enough. Even once the tunnel had been completed, it was a full day before he pulled Alfie aside.

He looked like hell but his fingers were solid on Alfie’s sleeve, his eyes equally solid. “Ready for tonight?” he said.

"As ready as I think you'll allow me to be." Alfie responded. He knew Tommy was to keep his secrets for his own personal reasons, but when working as a team, Alfie preferred to be on the up and up with exact mechanics. He coughed before spitting in the dirt, needing something to break the intense eye contact. "Seems foolish to ask if you're ready, so, are you confident?"

Alfie wasn't looking, so he didn't see the way Tommy's lips tightened a little at the sound of that cough. Alfie was strong as a horse, but in this rathole, anyone could be struck down with a sickness at any time, so he hated to hear it. He tried to concentrate. He had something to give Alfie in return for his trust, and at least there was that. There would be doctors at the end of it.

Was Tommy confident? He didn’t have much of a choice. "Yes. You'll be leading the main group, everyone on our list and whoever else can get out in time. They listen to you, so I think it'll be for the best." He handed Alfie a folded-up map. "There's a rendezvous marked out here. Freddie and I have distraction duty, and then we'll fill in the tunnel afterwards, just the mouth of it, so it's not obvious when they search under beds. We should meet you by sunrise."

Alfie looked back up to him and took the map, folding his fingers over it. Filling the tunnel in behind them. With how hastily the tunnel had been built, there was such a risk for an uncontrolled collapse. "We'll be waiting." There were forty men on the list, a fraction of the men that were being held in the camp, but more than that would be too risky. Hell, more than five felt too risky. "If you and Freddie... If you two aren't able to meet us at sunrise, should we continue on?"

"Of course. Don't wait up." Tommy almost smiled at that—it sounded like something his father would say to his mother, in another world where his father was decent and went to work and came back late. Commonplace and domestic and affectionate. A slip. He was allowed a slip. He was allowed many things, now, since it was getting close; he felt he'd earned them. He looked over at Alfie, fixing the man's face in his memory. Did that for about as long as he could take it, and then moved on, more business. Not necessary now, just talk, an excuse to stay standing there. "I'd tell the men to stuff what they can in their pockets during dinner, but they'd likely be spotted and questioned on it."

Alfie knew he couldn't wait. The men would need a leader, and they both knew there wasn't another like Alfie to do it. God, he would wait though; if he could, he would wait. "I've got dinner rolls tucked in my pillow. Been taking one each meal they're served. They're hard as bricks now, but it may do if it comes to that."

Tommy did smile at that. "Lucky you haven't been busted, or got rats. But you always were lucky. As lucky as anyone could be, here." He took a couple steps and leaned against the wall next to Alfie, looking vaguely out at the mass of men beyond them, talking, laughing, arguing, smoking, playing cards, and washing up. He could say things were easier that way, with half his brain taken up with processing that information. The other half slipping out of bounds and saying, "I've been lucky, too. You're not a likely thing. Statistically."

Alfie moved to lean next to him, strong arms crossing over his chest. "I am one of God's chosen people. Of course I've been lucky," he teased, his tone playful. Alfie brought up his hand a bit, inspecting his nails. The nails would probably be caked with dirt for the rest of his life. "Mm, statistically, no. You think of it as luck though?" Alfie alone had called it kismet, though he would never admit it to Tommy. "Having to put up with my hubris in such close quarters seems like it would be exhausting."

“It is,” Tommy said dryly, “but you have your merits.” Truth be told, he found it impossible to extricate Alfie’s ego from his pride, charisma, and general swagger, all of which had come enormously in handy when it came to recruiting men or keeping them quiet. Even with that aside, Alfie wore pride well. It didn't stop Tommy from often wanting to strangle the man, but then he'd never cared about anyone that he didn't want to strangle every now and then, which was all of his family and Greta and Freddie and even Danny on occasion. He took it as a matter of course. "You are exhausting," he added, "but in more ways than one."

"In more ways than one..." Alfie repeated, shaking his head. He slid his hands into his pockets, adding the map to the other contents that he had chipmunked away. A few nails that he planned to slide between his fingers in case of a brawl, a couple more notes, a dinner roll from their last meal. "Hardly seems like a fucking good thing, hmm? How can I make it up to you?" He glanced sideways.

"You know how you can make it up to me," Tommy said, and if he said it slantwise it would be a come-on, but he said it simple and a little quiet, and said like that, it meant something else entirely. It meant please or as close to please as he could bear saying out loud. Please live.

Alfie gave a fond snort, quiet enough for the two of them to hear as he looked down at Tommy’s boots. "So, have you thought more about the beach?" he asked, sensing that Tommy for once had time to just talk.

Tommy shrugged. "It's an idea," he said. He wanted to talk about it, but talking about it more would also make it more real, and the more real he made it, the more impossible it became. Polly needed him. They all needed him. And if he was being honest with himself? (Well, he wasn't. But let's say he was.) If he was being honest with himself, he needed being needed like that. Happiness, rest, a man, a beach: these things were relatively foreign to him and he was afraid that if he had them, he'd sit unnaturally with trouble brewing inside him and blow it all to pieces. But. In his imagination. "I suppose I could learn how to fish."

Alfie could see it now. Tommy standing at low tide with his trousers rolled up to his calves. The waves wafting in, licking at his ankles as he cast a line out into the vast ocean. "Fish," he scoffed. It was a pretty picture, but hardly the romantic whirlwind Alfie had been mulling over for the past few weeks. "There may be a bit of fishing to be done, if there aren't children about swimming. I could show you how to dig for clams as well, though it's arguably less relaxing."

"Fishing and children get along well enough," Tommy said, thinking back to some of his happiest days with his father. Somehow, their father had always been proudest and easiest pleased when tramping along a narrow forest path, or shooting a deer, or fishing, or starting a fire. For all that he'd spent most of his life in Birmingham, he understood that somehow too. He didn't understand his father's way with children, but that, he hoped, was not passed down as the forestry was. Anyways, where would he and Alfie get children from? "It's not a likely problem, anyways. If we have a beach, we might as well make it a private one. If we have a life, we might as well make it the kind where we have enough money to buy our food instead of foraging for it." (That disregarding the pertinent fact that he'd very much like to see Alfie with his trousers rolled up, squatting in the sand, digging. Ridiculous thought. And it only got worse.) "We might as well do everything, if it comes to that." It wouldn't. But why restrict a daydream?

“Fishing and children get on when they’re not both splashing in the shallows,” Alfie countered, dragging his heel in the dirt as a shadow of a smile still stayed on his face. “But you’re right, someplace private is far more suitable.” He couldn’t think of anywhere off the top of his head, but he would find something. “I used to go to the shore as a kid. I’d build these towers that were as tall as me, then punch them to topple them over. Even then, I was sabotaging my own fantasies of grandeur.” A beat. “God, I was such a shit. My mother always said I’d have worse than what I was. Her only curse on me. Everything else is of my own doing.”

“Not the worst you could get, as curses go. Got worse from my own mother.” Although Tommy couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. “You’d be a hell of a father, anyhow. Terrible—or very good. I don’t think there’s much in-between.” He tried to imagine Alfie with a kid on his knee, and found the image came pretty easily. Alfie would be building some tall tale about taking out ten Germans. The kid was harder to picture. Maybe they were awed, or maybe they were suspicious, or maybe they were pretending to be bored. Maybe they had brown eyes, maybe blue.

"I think that I would be decent…good even. Good for storytelling, good for listening. I'd need someone to raise them with with a more even temper for discipline. I wouldn't want to strike them, but I know I might." Alfie admitted, looking over at the sound of Danny laughing. It wasn't often that he heard it, and it warmed something in him. "My child would always know love and never hunger, that's enough, innit?" He turned his attention back to Tommy. "What are your curses, then? Good looks and hard head?"

Tommy looked over at Danny too, and this was familial, the two of them absorbing that joy secondhand together. For a moment, Tommy let himself think over Alfie’s words free of context, just as themselves. The man himself. Yes, he had the makings of a good father, maybe, Tommy decided, though he knew that he himself would likely be a far cry from it. He’d never seen it done before. It was hard, like that. But then, maybe he’d know exactly what not to do. 

Tommy rallied, and kept his voice light. “Are good looks a curse, now? Guess I’ll take the compliment, backhanded and all.” 

Alfie stuffed his hands in his pocket. It wasn’t backhanded, it was just a curse for anyone else. Tommy was so easily fallen in love with. At a glance he could turn Alfie to mush. Alfie wouldn’t admit it though. Not here. Maybe on their beach. “You know I don’t mean anything by it,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m just sure that it’s gotten you into mischief before.”

“Sure it’s getting me into mischief now, eh?” Tommy glanced sideways and gave Alfie a slantwise smile. Then there were the footsteps of a guard, and he looked away. “I’m ready, if it does,” he said quietly. “I’ve been expecting worse than trouble for some time now. It’ll be a relief to have the waiting over. You understand.”

Of course he did. Alfie turned and spat again as the guard passed, careful to not make it look like it wasn't a gesture directed at the guard... though it was. "Well, wait just a couple more days. I can do without trouble for another 48 hours, yeah?" He adjusted the collar of his coat and touched Tommy's arm before walking away. "See you on the other side."

Tommy murmured something in reply that he knew Alfie wouldn't catch, something whose meaning Tommy himself was not quite sure of; it had been something that his mother had said when they left the house late at night, or when shots were heard in the neighborhood, or when their father had arrived. When their father had left. A blessing he thought it was, something wishing good luck. Appropriate for Alfie. Tommy could never be fully certain of anything with Alfie, except his own unshakeable hope that the man would get a little good luck. A little luck was all a man like Alfie needed to make it. Tommy wanted that for him. 

In the meantime, though Tommy had no control over luck, he had plenty of control over the mission, and he fulfilled his end of it handily. After months of averting his eyes and ducking his head, it was a fierce joy to finally fight back, and with Freddie by his side he knocked out the armory guards pretty handily. 

When the blast of the explosion came, it was unmistakable. It rocked the entire compound, like an earthquake. It threw Tommy and Freddie into the air and then hard down back onto the earth, knocking the wind out of them. But even with what he suspected was a cracked rib, gasping for breath in the smoke, Tommy felt better than he had in a very long time.

At the rumbling of the explosion, Alfie swung his legs out of bed and moved to the back of the bunkhouse near Danny's bed. Several of the men were already up, gathering supplies, stepping into shoes. Shouts and sirens could be heard around the camp outside, and Alfie felt his adrenaline kick in. "Right Danny, you first, just keep breathing and you'll be on the other side in no time. You know where to lead." he said quietly, as the already prepared Danny began to crawl out. Alfie pulled the list out and read his cramped writing, making sure that every man was accounted for as they wriggled under the bunk and out to safety. He had decided to take up the back before Tommy and Freddie came to collapse.

Freddie never came. Tommy never came. They both walked towards the barracks as quickly as they could, but within minutes they were grabbed by shouting officers and directed to join the line of men passing buckets of water to put out the fire that threatened to reach the officer's quarters. There was a moment, a flicker in Freddie's eyes, when Tommy was sure he'd smash the officer with an elbow and run for it. Had he done that, Tommy would have joined in. No other choice, with a friend like Freddie. But then they'd both be dead. Now they were alive, but caught, out there in the open, just doing their best not to cough their fucking lungs out in the haze of smoke. "Do you think they made it?" Tommy finally managed to say, once a late-evening wind had lifted some of the smoke. What he really wanted to say was do you think Alfie made it but that wasn't something he could say out loud, not even to Freddie. Selfishness was allowed. He could've said it about John or Arthur. But this particular selfishness he'd have to keep to himself.

Freddie had remained silent since the explosion. The involuntary recruitment to clean up the mess they had made only made him sink further into himself, as any hope he had held began to snuff itself out. He thought of the letters Tommy had brought to him. He thought of Ada, of his parents. The Germans would see what they had done, and they wouldn't make it out alive. He offered a shrug, and swallowed the lump in his throat that had been forming. He glanced in the direction of the bunkhouse and nodded. "Alfie is a good leader, he wouldn't tolerate a panic. They have a shot; I just fear if the bastards set out the dogs."

Ah, that. It was maybe one of the only bits of fun Tommy had had all week. "Voigt had a significant private supply of whiskey. I put two and two together. The dogs are so drunk I'd be surprised if they could sniff out their own tails." He laughed, choked on the smoke, and sputtered back into silence. Then: "I'm sorry we didn't make it, though. You were the only one for the job. Alfie had to command, and you're the only other one I'd trust with anything like this." It was a small offering in comparison to the sacrifice of Freddie's freedom, but it was trust, and that was not nothing.

Freddie forced a weak grin to him, but his nostrils flared as he held in his bubbling emotion. Maybe there was still time. There could still be time to get out. "I'd rather be here with you than wondering if you were dead," he offered after a moment. There was another pause. "When we do get out, I'm proposing to your sister. I'm not asking your permission, I'm telling you that I get to have a bit of happiness, and that's Ada...If she'll have me."

Tommy relaxed, though it only lasted a moment.  _ I'd rather be here with you _ was the closest thing to grace as Tommy could ever rightfully expect. But then it all got turned on its fucking head. Tommy nearly dumped the water on the shoes of the other soldier next to him. "I—" What could he say? That Ada was the only one of them left with a chance? That she had Tommy's wits without his restlessness, John's swagger without as much ego, Arthur's lingering belief in good and evil without his wild rage? It wasn't anything that would sound right out loud, and Tommy knew it, but Ada was the last hope he had for the Shelby family. She even still got books out from the library, for fuck's sake. He wanted to watch her fly. But if she was with Freddie, it'd only be a matter of time. Freddie was Birmingham forever. Babies, maybe. Something idealistic, something that would mean jail time. A hard life. Tommy just wanted one of them to not have a hard fucking life. He knew he should be happy. He'd loved Freddie for a long time, in ways that twisted more than once from friendship to something else and back again. He had always wanted Freddie close, one way or another. And he'd seen the way Freddie looked at Ada since they were tiny. But somehow, all he could make himself say in that moment was, "I see."

Freddie swallowed Tommy's reaction. No joy in another brother, no congratulatory nod for his best mate. Just stoic acceptance. He pursed his lips and started to fill his empty water bucket with dirt as the water wasn’t doing enough to put out the flames still lapping from the armory. There was too much hurt for other things to hang himself up on Tommy's hesitation now. "But who fuckin' knows? I may have a bullet in the head tomorrow morning and the best Ada will have of me is a fond memory and my picture." Perhaps Tommy would prefer it that way. 

So, Freddie had given her his picture before he left. There was something there and had been something there the duration of the war, and that meant it was inevitable. Hell, who was Tommy trying to fool? Everything was inevitable, and he was just being an ass. "You'll make it back," Tommy said roughly, more angry with himself than anything else. Maybe angry too that he hadn't known Freddie and Ada had gone that far, and then angry at himself twice over at the state of things he'd left for himself and Ada when they'd last talked, last fought. After all, she'd been right. France was no closer to Greta than England. He swallowed hard. "You'll make it back, and you'll get a medal. If I have anything to do with it. Probably throw it in the Cut, but at least you'll have had it. Give it half a year and we'll put together a decent dowry." There was something else, too, that made Tommy angry about all this, but he didn't quite know what it was and didn't want to look too closely. He spoke the right words, or at least close to the right words, but he knew he wasn't delivering them right and he was too tired to figure out how to fix himself.

"Fucking right, I'll throw it into the Cut. Right along with you, and Danny, and the others. A medal." He spat. It meant fuck all to him. He relaxed a bit at Tommy's words. A dowry, maybe a home suitable for more than two. "I've started saving up for her. A ring and all that. You know how they're fashionable now? Nothing flashy, I know she wouldn't care about the size, but something that sparkles like her eyes." He turned his head and coughed roughly, finding a second wind in him as he stood with the dirt and moved closer to throw it on the flames. 

Alfie sat stone silent in the woods, exactly where Tommy had marked on the map. It had been forty minutes. All men had been out and accounted for. They could have done more. For now though, Alfie was only concerned about two more men meeting them at the tree line. He could hear Danny click his cheek next to him, his nervous tick popping up again. "Another 20 minutes. We have another 20 before dawn and then we can go. They're coming."

They never came. Instead, Tommy murmured, "I always knew you were a fucking romantic," and smiled, and thought to himself:  _ diamonds from a communist and all, he really is in love with her.  _ It soothed the ache, for a little while. And then they were marched back to the barracks, head count taken a frightful row. Screaming, a lot, mostly in German. Interviews, one-on-one. Searches. No more cards. No more cigarettes. And as the soldiers moved from bunk to bunk, Tommy knew he couldn't let them reach the end of the row. It was only a matter of time before they found the tunnel that he and Freddie hadn't been able to refill. He hadn't planned for this, but he had to do something. 

Which was how he found himself claiming to have information, and then sitting down and lying as hard as he could for hours at a time. It didn’t work, of course. If anything, it bought Alfie and the others maybe three hours. But in the wooded countryside, three hours could be a lot, and when Tommy was finally thrown into solitary for being completely useless, he at least felt that he’d done everything he could.

Alfie waited. The final 20 minutes stretched on for an eternity, and when the sky was light enough to see the tired faces of his fellow prisoners, he knew that it was time to go. The map pointed northwest, so that was where Alfie led them. They all walked urgently in sullen silence, thinking of who they left behind, and what may become of them if they were caught. Forty men were on the list, and thirty-eight made it to the Franco-German border by mid-day. 

By nightfall, they had come into a small farming town who took pity on the ragged men and offered them food and shelter at the local inn. Many of the men planned to leave in the morning, and take their shot at returning to England. Anything to escape the possibility of simply being returned to the trenches. A few needed medical attention, most just needed to rest. Alfie, most of all. He took a double bed with Danny that evening and lay awake, listening to Danny's heavy snores and light mumbling. Guilt washed over him like waves to a shore. Tommy should have been the one to get out. It should have been Tommy. He shut his eyes, letting a couple silent tears leak out and fall into his beard. It should have been Tommy.


	6. A Family Not Wholly His

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie meets the Shelby family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The content and tone of this and a few other chapters will be different than what came before, for reasons that will soon become apparent.  
> —Ashling

## PART TWO: ENGLAND

Polly had her hands full with the business and her heart broken by Michael and Anna’s absence. Martha was so heavy with John’s second baby that she could barely walk. And all the men weren’t even in the country. So it was Ada who went to London, greeting Danny and Billy and a few other Birmingham men who didn’t have close family, or whose families were too poor or busy to make the trip. It was strange, how quickly things had changed. One day she was just flirting with whoever she saw and devouring library books left and right, the betting business a relatively small thing that turned out a little money and a little trouble regularly. And the next thing she knew, it felt like she just woke up one morning and everyone was grown, herself included, locked into this war that hardly any of them believed in. Her heart lost somewhere in France, and the business not only fiercer, but bigger than she could have ever imagined it. Under Polly’s tutelage, she’d come to think of the Shelby name as beyond merely the number of people that wore it. To be a Shelby meant owning the streets, and that included a certain measure of goodwill.

So, in addition to train tickets home sent by the men’s families, she also bore enormous quantities of good things: new underwear and gingerbread and homemade socks and scarves, several of which she’d made herself. It was her job to play the welcoming maternal figure, and she did about as well as she could, considering the fact that she’d rather be taking that same ship back to France, to find Freddie, Tommy, and John. Hell, even Gallipoli to get Arthur. By the time her store of presents had dwindled and she’d hugged nearly every man she’d ever met, she was tired beyond words. But then there was Danny, who had always been sweet to her, even back when she was a barefoot tomboy and before he business took off. She mustered a smile for him. 

“It’s good to see you safe,” Ada managed to say into his shoulder when she hugged him. She spied a scraggly-bearded man lurking a few paces back, watching them. “Who’s your new friend?”

Danny flinched a bit as he was hugged but slowly melted against her at the smell of her perfume. The smell of something familiar. "It's good to see you too, Ada." he mumbled back, taking his time to let her go. He looked about to the others on the platform, before glancing back to Alfie. "My new friend? Yes, he is, was, is our captain. Alfie Solomons. Alfie!" Danny waved him over. "You must meet Ada. This is Ada Shelby. Tommy's sister." 

The name Shelby turned Alfie’s head like a dog to a whistle. He smiled widely to mask his nervousness and took a step forward, offering his hand. "Just Alfie, I like to think I left Captain Solomons back in France." Goodness, she was a Shelby. From her fiery eyes to her firm handshake. "Ada, I think I remember Tommy mentioning you more than once. He said if they had drafted you, you could have solved the whole mess before Christmas. Or something along those lines."

“I wouldn’t have let us get in the mess to start with,” said Ada, studying his face closely. She couldn’t imagine Tommy obeying orders well, but she could understand it if Tommy willingly cooperated with the orders of a man he respected. This Alfie Solomons, despite the gaunt face and ragged hair, had the makings of that man. It was in his handshake, strong but not brutal, and it was in the way he didn’t react with annoyance when she spoke with her customary sharpness and assurance. She could feel his eyes tracing her face, and she wondered if he could see Tommy in her. If he’d want to. Hell, when Tommy had left, she’d been so angry at him that she hadn’t wanted to talk of him at all, and now, it was maybe the thing she wanted most. “I'm glad we’ve met, Alfie. It must take some kind of a man to give Tommy orders and survive the ordeal.”

Alfie chuckled at that and looked down, nodding. "Indeed, some kind of man. Tommy's a born leader as well, I think every member of the unit has great respect for him. As do I." He clasped Danny's shoulder warmly, pleased to see him smiling out of the corner of his eye. "So, you're here to take them all up, are you?" It was an attempt at lightheartedness, but he had a feeling that Ada could be spoken to frankly. He knew why Ada was here. Alfie's tone shifted back to serious. "Have you heard anything from Tommy?"

Ada gave him a brilliant smile, mostly teeth and disappointment and the instinct to not break down and cry in public. “No, we were hoping that you—“ She shifted slightly under the weight of the massive basket she’d brought to carry all the gifts. “Anyway, where are you going, Alfie? You don’t sound like Birmingham, but you’re welcome to come, of course. We can find someplace for you before they ship you out again.”

“I’m home. I’m home now, but have no one to go home to. Here.” Alfie took the gift basket from her. “I’m sure you’re more than capable, but I’ve been on my arse for a week now. Let me help you bring everyone in. I want to talk to you about Tommy. Freddie Thorne is a Birmingham bloke as well, yeah? He’s tied into the heroics. You can pass everything along to the people it’ll matter to.” He adjusted the basket, and looked Ada over. He knew that mask anywhere. He had placed his own on as soon as she mentioned being shipped out again.

Ada had an instinctive dislike of unknown men helping her, but then, she was deadly tired, and Alfie was a friend of Tommy’s, so that was close enough. She relaxed a little, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Freddie, yeah. I know him. I had hoped that he and Tommy would stay well away from heroics, but I guess that’s not...that’s not how they are, is it.”

“S’not, no.” Alfie agreed, wetting his lips. “But Tommy and Freddie are the reason that me, Danny, and thirty-six others were able to be on that train today. Fucking incredible those two, I tell you.” He squeezed her arm in his and walked her to the platform for Birmingham with several of the other men in tow. “We’ve a train ride to chew it over though, don’t we? Thank you, by the way, for the invitation. Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

"I'm sure." Ada's fingers tightened a little, just enough to let Alfie feel it through the sleeve of his coat. "Nobody else has been able to tell me what happened, and if Tommy were here, he might want you looked after. Might is enough. I'm not letting you go."

“Looked after,” Alfie scoffed, looking at her again. There was no point in playing the part of a man who didn’t need a thing. The rest of the world would already assume it from a war hero. Perhaps Birmingham with Ada would be a safe place for him to be looked after, if he would allow himself to really be looked after. “It’s appreciated. I want to extend the same courtesy to you and your Aunt Polly. Tommy clued me in to the business with Michael and Anna. I’m here to provide whatever services you need there.” He meant it.

Ada looked up at him, for a moment only steering her way through the crowd with her peripheral vision, openly staring, and not with a smile either. Her insides churned. Michael and Anna were their greatest mistake, the one stark piece of evidence that they could make all the money they wanted, but they were still wide open to the police. Undoubtedly the thing she was most ashamed to write to Tommy about; undoubtedly the thing Tommy was most hurt and enraged by. Not something he’d share with the average friend, and something he likely wouldn’t even share with Freddie unless he thought Freddie could actually do something about it. Which meant two things: firstly, Tommy somehow classed this man as close as he did Freddie or family, and secondly—

“Such a fucking hero,” Ada said bitterly. She had realized: Tommy had expected not to make it out. “Him, not you,” she clarified quickly, turning her eyes back to the crowded train platform in front of them. “It’s...very good of you to offer, but we’ll have to talk to Polly first. As long as you’re our kind of honest and not easily riled, that should be fine.” Might be fine. You never knew with Polly nowadays. Ada debated warning Alfie more on that front, but then the old Shelby family close-lipped attitude towards outsiders took over, and she busied herself fishing out her and Danny’s tickets instead. “Do you have money to buy your own ticket?” She asked Alfie plainly. She wouldn’t have done it to anyone else, but if Alfie knew their greatest embarrassment, then being short on cash was nothing in comparison.

Alfie couldn't say that he exactly understood her hesitation. The letter that Tommy had shown him was nothing short of tragic, and in his eyes, far from an embarrassment. "Easily riled? No, I don't think so," he said, setting the basket down to pull a few bills from his wallet. He had managed to pull a little money from his account when the army discharged him. He didn't care to travel empty handed.

"I can get my own ticket," he affirmed, craning his neck to the busy ticket booth. "I'll just purchase it on the train." Basket back in arms and knapsack over his shoulder, Alfie led the way onto the train and to an available booth. Danny sat near the window across the aisle, bags and basket piled up next to him. 

Alfie gave Ada the window and settled in next to her, tugging his jacket close around him. "You'll have to forgive me if I nod off. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a snorer," he winked, giving her a good-natured grin.

"I'll forgive you for that if you forgive me for the interrogation you're about to get," Ada said. "We've been starved for news. If I was back in school and you had pigtails, I'd say, 'tell me everything,' but since we're grown and on a train, I guess I'll start by asking how Tommy was the last time you saw him. Did he ever get injured?" 

Again, Ada would normally feel a little uncomfortable this close to a strange man, with Danny drifting off already across from them, but Alfie's knowledge and attitude, in combination with Ada's own observations, made him a particular and peculiar category of person, outside of being a stranger. She barely knew anything about him, and yet in a pinch she might trust him with her life, as Tommy so clearly had. It was the war that made things so mixed-up and unsteady, and she still wasn't used to it.

Alfie stroked his beard and let a chuckle out through his nose. "This could be long enough for pigtails if it would set you at ease." The smile faded though as he took his time to think about the details of his last conversation with Tommy. Conversations of kids, fishing, the beach... It all felt too intimate to bring up now. Ada didn't know Alfie from Adam. "He was well when I had last seen him. He had taken a bullet in France, though that's long since healed up. Honestly, he was fitter than me at the camp." Alfie handed off the bills to a passing conductor who came to check tickets, and put his stub in his coat pocket. "We were taken to a camp in Oberhofen at separate times, it was dumb luck that all of us ended up together."

That should have made Ada feel better. After all, she already knew about his wound in France—like getting stung by a bee, Tommy had written—and yet there was something in Alfie’s face when she asked that question. Sadness alone she would understand, but his expression held restraint, too, and he chose his words a little more carefully than he had before. What this man thought he had to phrase nicely for her sake, that was what she wanted to know. But there was no polite way to ask, so she moved on. “Good luck, it seems. How did you get out? I heard something about a tunnel, vaguely, but that was about it.”

"Tunnel yes. The efforts of Tommy, Danny, Freddie, myself and a few others. We dug from underneath Danny's bunk to a forest line near the camp. Tommy and Freddie attracted the attention of the guards by setting off stolen dynamite and gunpowder on the opposite side of the camp. They were supposed to meet us and collapse the tunnel behind us. They didn't show up at our checkpoint, so we had to press on. We weren't followed, and if we were, we had quite a head start. Whatever distraction those two put on, it saved a good portion of men." Alfie's eyes dropped to his lap and he picked at a hangnail. Alfie again thought of how he owed Tommy everything. He knew the bastard would shrug it off as if it was nothing. "I don't know if he's alive or dead for sure, but something tells me he's continuing to outwit the Grim Reaper and the German fucks."

“You’re right,” Ada said. She could feel it, and maybe it was merely wishful thinking, but she chose to stick with it anyway. It made life more bearable. “He’s too stubborn to die, anyway.” 

Suddenly, Ada realized just how exhausted Alfie looked, and she felt a pang of self-reproach. She had no idea how painful the memories might be, but at least she could refrain from asking about them further only days after Alfie got free. “Well,” she said, after a minute, “I’ll leave you to your snoring now. The ride to Birmingham will make you a decent nap, and you look like you could use it.” (She didn’t realize it then, but she had begun to mimic Polly a little; rough affection wrapped up inside an implied insult.)

Alfie nodded his head to her and stretched his feet out to rest beneath the booth in front of them. "Nudge me if it gets unbearable, yeah?" he chuckled, folding his arms over his chest as he settled in. It didn't take long for him to nod off, and soon he was resting gently against Ada's frame, feeling truly safe and at home for the first time in an age. 

Birmingham was far more of a shithole than Alfie had imagined. All the smog of London without the pomp and circumstance. All the same, as the train stopped in front of the station, Alfie gave a small grin and fixed his hat. "This is it, hmm?" he asked, getting up and stretching luxuriously. He gathered his bag from Danny's side and the large basket before nudging the still sleeping man. "C'mon, don't you have a sweetheart waiting on you? Get up, Danny-boy."

Danny started with a jerk, but then he saw Alfie’s scruffy, good-natured face, and he relaxed back into the bench. “Yeah, alright.” He hailed himself up and gathered some of the bags, though not before Ada grabbed a couple for herself to carry. For her part, she’d gotten a bit more used to the idea of Alfie. The captain was hardly an imposing figure when he was this untidy, and this smelly, and snoring with his mouth open. If he were Tommy she’d get him a sandwich and tea first thing.

Which is exactly what she did. But first, Danny walked with them a little bit on the way home, talking with halting enthusiasm about all the best shops, showing Alfie the best place to buy a pair of trousers for cheap, or some bread. Finally, he parted ways with them and headed down Bowery, with no explanation, just a nervous, cheerful goodbye. “There’s a flower shop two blocks down,” Ada said, by way of explanation, and then Alfie’s real introduction to Birmingham began. Without directly telling him anything about the Shelby business, Ada pointed out the Chinese quarters, the places where Irish and Italians were likely to go, the different major docks, and, when they neared the family house, the police station. 

When Ada finally got back, the betting shop was in full swing, it being a Friday and a payday at that. Polly, in the midst of counting change for a customer, gave Ada a sharp look, to which Ada simply shook her head and took Alfie into the back. No real news of Tommy, but she could sit Alfie down and pour him tea from the kettle, cut him heavy slices of bread and cheese and—“Solomons, right? Is that Jewish?” She wouldn’t usually ask so forthrightly, but she was standing in her own house and she didn’t want to accidentally poison a man with a ham sandwich. Or, if not poison, then insult.

Alfie was sure to wipe his boots before coming in and he touched the brim of his hat at the sight of Polly, giving her a small smile. Though not yet introduced, Alfie knew her in the crowded room; she was as fearsome as Tommy let on, and he loved her instantly for it. He shrugged off his coat and hung it, before following Ada back to sit at the table where she had placed an empty mug. 

"It is," he affirmed, touched by Ada’s thoughtfulness. "Bread and cheese is splendid." He had had some decent food in the French village, but that had only lasted a couple days. The thought of soft bread in his mouth was enough to make it salivate. "Quite a busy shop front, hmm?" War made people desperate, and desperate people placed bets. Sad business, but obviously lucrative.

“Payday is reliable,” Ada said, handing over the cheese sandwich and the tea. “Don’t poke around the offices unless you want Polly to take your ears. I’ll be back after the rush.” She headed out to the front shop, giving him one pat on the shoulder on her way. 

The rush was a decent one, and after the last of the men left to go home to their families, Polly called an impromptu family meeting, which mostly consisted of her and Ada talking in quiet tones and Martha half-dozing off in the corner as Katie crawled around on the rug playing with one of Ada’s old dolls, a wooden thing whose cotton dress was stained beyond all recognizable pattern.

When Polly and Ada emerged, it was well after dinner time, and Alfie had been waiting a while. Ada looked faintly apologetic, and Polly was anything but welcoming. “So you’re a friend of Tommy’s, eh?” She demanded. “Ada seems to think we should find work for you. What have you done, other than getting promoted to officer? Where are you from? Who are your people?” 

Sorry, Ada mouthed over Polly’s shoulder.

Alfie wet his lips and rubbed his hands together as he took in Polly's questions. "London. Well, Russian born, but I've been here for the life that I can remember." He glanced up behind Polly to Ada as she mouthed her apologies and couldn't help but smile slightly. "What have I done and who are my people?" he repeated. These were a bit harder to answer. "Well, the labor that I've done is varied. I've done work down at the wharf as a child, worked in a bakery for most of my adult life. I've an education. Whatever the fuck that's worth. Speak English, French, Russian, Hebrew...I'm fucking handy with a gun and I pick things up quick." Though he had no idea if any of that was useful. "As for my people, I get on with most. I scratch the back of those who scratch mine, but back home I am found mostly with other Jews. We've got to stick together after all, since most of the world's looking for an excuse to nudge us out." Like the travelers.

“You talk like a politician,” Polly said. “And you talk a lot.” She turned to Ada. “Ask Charlie if there’s an opening with the canal, and ask around about a room. I’m not having a man without the name of Shelby in my house, whatever Tommy said about him.” With that, she swept out of the kitchen. 

“What about dinner?” Ada called after her.

“I had it before the rush. I’ll be in the back office.” And Polly shut the door.

Ada raised her eyebrows, then turned back to Alfie. “You get used to her, after a while,” she said. She was tempted to explain that Polly had been bitterly disappointed when Tommy’s name wasn’t among the escaped prisoners, and that Polly didn’t like any mention of Romani business lately, even in implications. But that might drive Alfie feel too unwelcome. 

“It’s just bad timing. She’s had a long day and we’re under a lot. I didn’t tell her you knew about Michael and Anna, because when she’s like this, talking about them is a gamble with bad odds. But I said I’d look after you and I meant it.” She refilled his cup with tea and then leaned against the kitchen counter. “Did you mean it, when you said Tommy told you to get Michael and Anna? They’re likely in the hands of the Church now. I don’t know how much experience you’ve had with that, but take it from me: I’ve asked around for weeks, and nobody has ever heard of a child being successfully taken back once the Church has them.” She mustered a smile. “At least you don’t have to worry about being doubly damned if it does come down to lying to a priest.”

Polly might not like being reminded of it, but Ada with her Marxist and anti-imperialist readings and all had enough of the concept of solidarity to see that Alfie’s experience made him, if not better qualified, then at least more capable of understanding their situation than many others. 

“If you’re willing,” she said, “there’s a piece of business that could use another steady hand. Unorthodox. But a good test of how far you can go.”

"Tommy would never ask me directly, but he wouldn't have told me about it if he didn't want my help. That much I know about him." Alfie said, nodding in thanks as his mug was refilled. "The only thing that I hate to think about more than the fucking Church are wards of the Church. Horrible business. No, I've no qualms in lying to a priest as I see them lying to their flock constantly. No offense meant." At the mention of unorthodox work, Alfie perked a bit. "Go on then, what's the business?" Depending on what was needed, he was considering troubling Ada for a bath. His state was fine among other soldiers, but next to the Shelby women, he was aware of how unkempt he looked.

“We’re low on men, but there’s still trouble enough that I’d have Arthur, Tommy, and John all on it if I could,” Ada said. “The Finsbury Boys have been brushing up against our territory. They demanded protection money from a couple streets of shops within our territory, and they threatened to come back a week later and smash things up if they didn’t get it. A few shops caved. The rest are looking to us. It hasn’t been a week yet, but I’ve got a feeling about it. I used to go to school with Gordon, and he wasn’t such a delight then either. He’ll be looking forward to raising a little hell. So it’s a night watch job.” 

“A shit job,” she added, after a second’s thought. “It’s me, uncle Charlie, and Georgie Owens, who’s only home from the war cause he’s down three fingers. If they do come we’ll be fair outnumbered. But I have a little Tommy in me, or vice versa, according to Polly. And I can pay you for it.”

She weighed a bit of female flattery on the subject of his broad shoulders and war record, but refrained. Alfie did seem to operate a little bit on honor and obligation and saving people—he offered to help get Michael and Anna back as if it were an easy decision for him—but he was also smart, and probably wouldn’t enjoy being played with. So she turned back to the kitchen cabinets and began planning some soup. “You have all dinner to decide, and you’ll get dinner either way.”

Alfie was rather impressed to see Ada in the thick of it all. Protecting shops from thugs in the middle of the night. He thought of how Tommy said Ada was the most like him. Alfie was quick to agree now. 

"You're giving me food, finding me a bed, this is the least I could fucking do for you," he said, standing up from his chair and moving over to the tap to wash his hands. "Now, you're playing a lot of parts between protector and home maker. How about you tell me what needs to be done with dinner and allow me? Baking may be my specialty, but I know my way around a stove top as well." Ada would be doing Alfie a favor, letting him sink back into something so domestic after trodding through hell and back. He picked the dirt out from under his fingernails and was sure to scrub his callouses before he dried his hands on his trousers.

"I haven't gone shopping in a while, and it's late. This won't be any culinary triumph, and definitely nothing that needs two pairs of hands. Why don't you go get yourself cleaned off? Second door on the left, upstairs, and I'll see if there are any of Dad’s old things to give you." Alfie was broader than any of the Shelby men, but in a pinch, anything would do. "I'll keep an eye on the hallway and see to it that Polly doesn't run into you and throw a fit. She'll be better after she's had some food."

Alfie took a long sip from his mug, finishing the tea off before wiping his whiskers. "Much appreciated. I'd like to refrain from flashing my hostess." he chuckled, heading towards the door. 

Upstairs, in the bath, was the first time for months that he had more than two minutes alone with himself. In prison, there had always been other prisoners and guards; on the run, he’d always had to stand guard with another soldier; in the army, they were four to a tent; and even in traveling, there were anonymous masses. But now. He closed his eyes and leaned back so that his whole body was submerged except for his nose, just enough so he could breathe. He gripped the sides of the tub.

If he let himself sink too deep into missing Tommy, it’d take him an age to get out and he would go down to dinner with the Shelbys in a wretched mood precisely when he most needed to be agreeable, so that wouldn’t do. But he couldn’t help wondering what Tommy would think of this. Of Alfie in his childhood home, among his family, eating of their food and wearing their clothes and naked in a bath that Tommy had once occupied. Was he taking what rightfully belonged to Tommy? Or was he, as Ada seemed to suspect, doing what Tommy had wanted all along?

At least he knew what he wanted, now. Earlier, he had lived life in negatives; he had simply wanted to not die, and then he had wanted to not be a prisoner anymore. But now there was a whole family, not wholly his, but his to protect and support. 

Add that to the list of reasons he owed Tommy. 

Before he could let himself get too maudlin, he hauled himself out of the bath. In the mirror, a man looked back at him, dripping and bearded and older than he expected. Scarred and skinnier than he should be and badly bruised on the left shoulder.

“Not dead yet,” he said.


	7. The War at Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birmingham keeps Alfie busy, but not busy enough to stop missing Tommy.

Alfie could have spent hours in that bath, but he limited himself to a punctual twenty minutes. He took time to trim his beard and hair, and in the senior Shelby's clothes, he could almost pass for a member of society again. He admired himself in the mirror, wondering once again, what Tommy would think of him in his father's clothes. He let out a breath and wiped down the sink to clean his hair clippings. Thoughts on Tommy. Did he still have a room here? Alfie poked his head out of the washroom, looking down the hallway for any doors that were open for snooping.

One of the rooms was pretty bare, except for a tiny collection of bottles and jars atop the trunk at the foot of the bed, probably a woman’s cosmetics and perfumes. The second was even more bare than the first, smaller, and windowless. It had a picture of the Virgin Mary square in the middle of the far wall. Finally, as he peeked in through the door of the last room, he saw something completely different, a big room crammed with a double bed, a child’s bed, all manner of ladies’ underthings clothespinned to a drying line strung across the far wall, clothes and toys everywhere. Like the room itself, the woman there was clean but untidy; her hair made a frizzy cloud around her braid and her dress was stained. But she looked up at the creak of the floorboard and smiled. 

“Dinner, is it?” She said, dimpling. “You must be Alfie. I’m Martha, and this is Katie.” She pointed one bare foot at the equally frizzy-headed little blonde hooligan at her feet, who just then was crashing a wooden figure into a doll with all manner of ferocious noises. “Katie, lets go. Dinnertime.” 

The kid made no reply.

“Don’t you want to talk to Mr. Solomons? He’s new.”

“No.”

Martha sighed. “Can you carry her downstairs? I’d do it, but—” She gestured at her enormous belly. “I can barely lift myself, nowadays.”

"Martha, pleasure. John-boy's missus, yeah?" Alfie asked, giving her a nod. "I've heard a bit about you here and there. As for dinner, I've only just stepped out of the bath, but it smells about done." He looked down to Katie and smiled at her forthright response. He crouched down and pointed to Katie's doll. "Who's this?"

Katie’s head jerked up, and she stared at him for a second, blue eyes piercing, before she decided that Alfie was worthy of conversation, and held up her doll for his inspection. “It’s Dad.”

“I’ve told her Dad doesn’t go in for full skirts, usually.”

“He can’t be Steve—“ and here Katie showed him the wooden figure. “Cause Steve is naked.”

“Katie!” Martha scolded in a voice that, on closer inspection, might be stifling some laughter,

“Mum, he doesn’t have any clothes.”

Alfie's shoulders shook with silent laughter as he nodded, inspecting the doll. "Katie, I think that the resemblance to your da is uncanny." he offered, smoothing back the doll's wild hair. "Don't you think he's hungry for dinner too, though? Be a good girl, and let's head downstairs."

“Good girls don’t have any fun, Aunt Ada says.” But a warm, savory smell was wafting up from downstairs, and it really was a late dinner. Katie’s stomach won out. “Fine,” she decided, putting down both the dolls and sticking her arms out with an expectant look.

“Katie, you can walk yourself down.”

“Don’t wanna.”

"Come along." Alfie chuckled, leaning down to scoop her up. "Your mum is ready to pop. Let's not put her back out, huh?" He swung her easily onto his hip and smiled at Martha before heading down towards the stairs. "Tell me, Katie, what sort of games are there to play around here?" 

After a convivial dinner of bean and potato soup with plenty of crusty bread on the side, Ada put Katie and herself to bed while Martha sat knitting in the sitting room and Alfie fell asleep in an armchair. Polly didn’t emerge from her office once the whole time, but that was probably for the best. When Ada next woke up Alfie, it was dead dark outside. “Here. It’s chilly. These used to be Tommy’s, and I don’t think he’ll mind. Don’t cut yourself on the brim, now.”

The walk was brisk, and the streets not particularly friendly, but nobody gave them any trouble on their way to Whalen Street, especially not with Ada idly whirling a tire iron with her left hand. 

When they reached a triple-story building in the middle of the street, Ada rapped on the door four times in quick succession. “We’ll keep watch from a high window,” she told Alfie, and then, louder, “Georgie, it’s me.”

Georgie nudged the door open and smiled to Ada before taking in Alfie. He looked him over a bit warily before glancing back to Ada with a raised brow. If Alfie was with a Shelby, he was able to be trusted. He opened the door a bit wider to let them both in. "Before you catch your death." he mumbled, shutting and locking the door behind them. "Alright there Ada? This is?" 

"Alfie Solomons." He knew the look that Georgie was giving him. You're not in France, so there must be something wrong with you. "Here as a guest while on leave."

"One of the tunnelers that got Danny out," Ada said. The Owens brothers weren't particularly close, but it still had to count for something. "Friend of Tommy's, good gun hand. Not that it'll come to it," she added quickly. The last thing that she wanted was for the tempers of men to flare and the conflict to escalate.

Georgie nodded and extended his hand to Alfie, who shook it without even thinking of the missing digits. "Any friend of Tommy is a friend of mine. Well, within reason." He winked and shoved his hand back in his pocket. "No, Ada, no shots, of course. Just acting the watch dogs tonight." He glanced at the clock on the wall and let out a breath. "Hear from Charlie at all?"

"I assume he's in position, but I'll use your phone to confirm. Keep an eye at the window. Either of you want tea while I'm down there?"

"Please do." Georgie invited, gesturing further inside before moving to perch on the stool he had set up by the window. "Tea would be brilliant. Alfie?" 

"I'll never turn down a cuppa," Alfie agreed. He was still acclimating to tea with flavor and without flies. Alfie unbuttoned his jacket and looked out the window to the quiet street. "Thank you." He glanced at Georgie and fiddled with the box of matches in his pocket. "Ada, how many Finsbury Boys are we predicting to deal with?"

"They're not expecting much resistance, so it could be as few as five. But then, they might view it as a bit of a party, or an easy thing to bring along some of their juniors on. They've got a lot of older boys. But as long as the core group is less than seven, we'll be fine. Boys scatter fast without leadership." With that, Ada disappeared downstairs.

"They're getting bold with little else to do." Georgie hummed, folding his arms over his chest. "A fucking thorn in our side though. The young ones have started a brand for themselves with setting off firecrackers in the street at night. It wakes some of the returned men; they like to listen for the yells."

Ada returned a few minutes later with a kettle in one hand and some stacked cups in the other. "No sugar around, no cream," she announced. "Here, if either of you want this poker, might be nice." She took the iron bar out from under her left arm and offered it to Georgie first. "So long as nobody gets their skull cracked, I wouldn't be against a broken arm or two."

Georgie scoffed at Ada’s announcement. "No. No sugar, no cream. Apologies for my lack of hospitality. There may be some dried honey in the cabinet if you absolutely need it." Georgie took the bar from Ada and gripped it, giving it a swing for good measure. As Alfie helped Ada with the cups, Georgie held it out to Alfie to take if he wanted it. 

Alfie shook his head and took off the cap, looking at the razors stitched into it. "No, I think that I'll get plenty of use from this." he said, getting a whiff of Tommy as he put the cap back on his head. "No main arteries, just some knicks on the cheek."

"Cut their forehead, and it'll send blood into their eyes, that's what Dad always said." Ada looked at Alfie with a slightly odd expression on her face. "It suits you." Turning to the window, she lapsed into silence. 

The night passed quietly until quite early in the morning, a few streaks of light beginning to appear in the sky along wisps of clouds. Quite a gorgeous view, if you ignored the troupe of boys and men heading down from the northern neighborhood. It was hard to tell the boys from the men, but Ada recognized at least four well-known rough men. "Wait until they pick a place," Ada said, rushing downstairs. "I'll be at the phone and there in a second. Watch out for the big one, and Gordon's likely got a knife."

The Finsbury Boys made quick work of it. By the time Georgie and Alfie got out of doors, they'd already smashed through the glass of a dressmaker's shop window, and sent a smaller boy in through the broken window. As soon as the boy opened the front door, they began pouring through, and it was just like that, half of them in the shop and half out, when one of them spotted the two men. It was not the warmest welcome. Even a yell of warning or an insult would've been kinder than what that boy of sixteen or seventeen did: he laughed, and pointed. 

"They're mine," grunted a man who was unmistakably The Big One. He had a meaty head like an egg, the slightly mangled and flat ears of a boxer, and arms so long it gave him a primitive, apelike look. He began to saunter towards them.

Alfie puffed his chest a bit and eyed Georgie as he brought the tire iron to rest up on his shoulder. He had a solid six inches and two stones on Alfie, but it made it all the better. The adrenaline that pumped through Alfie as he continued to walk forward was filling one of his many voids that had surfaced since coming home from the war. He tutted loudly and took off his cap, rolling a shoulder. "Heyo Georgie, look at this ugly fuck."

Georgie couldn't help but smile a bit at Alfie's casual manner. He hadn't felt in a place to take shots at anyone's physical appearance, but the jeering was helping him get into a superior headspace. "Looks like someone left the zoo gates open, huh?" he shot back, trying to decide where the best place to hit the giant was. If he got this wrong, things could go badly for him: behind the giant, not engaging but creeping a bit further, were a few of the not-quite-men, gangly things with mean eyes that watched Alfie and Georgie like they were about to eat them alive. 

Georgie choose to take a shot at the giant’s ribs, hoping to knock the air out of him. The giant stepped in towards Georgie and blocked the shot with one bent arm, the iron glancing off one massive forearm and thudding to a halt against his upper arm. Nothing broke, but it didn't give him any pleasure, either: he growled, grabbed Georgie by the collar, and half-wrenched him to the left so Georgie was between himself and Alfie. Then he launched a massive headbutt at Georgie's nose.

Georgie gasped, seeing stars for a moment as he felt the bridge of his nose snap like a twig. Face throbbing, he aimed a hard kick at his stomach and swung the iron hard to the side of the giant's head. 

The iron didn't hit full-on, but it still thunked solidly against the bald head, leaving behind a red imprint and making the giant stagger back a couple steps. 

As Georgie and the giant were fighting, Alfie moved around behind them and took his cap off, flicking equally hungry eyes at the teenagers, daring them to step closer. He thought of the fire crackers, and how someone like Danny would react to hearing them...it made Alfie see red.

  
At that, a few of the bolder boys started forward, one very tall one and then a matching pair of broad-shouldered boys, maybe twins. Seventeenish, but big enough, and the tall one had some kind of dull metal glinting over the knuckles of his right hand. 

Before they could reach Alfie, there was a yell behind him, running footsteps. “Three minutes!” Ada howled. "Duck!" and then there was an odd ceramic sound. She made a sort of flinging motion with her right hand, and over Georgie's bowed head, a stream of boiling water arced, hitting the big man full on in the eyes. "Peaky Blinders," Ada said, panting a little and jogging over to Alfie as the big man clawed at his face and howled. She dropped the kettle gently in the road. "We only have to hold for three minutes," she said in an undertone to Alfie, and then yelled, "Gordon! You fat fuck!"

Out came Gordon himself, arms full of loot. He really was a really tiny man, and he didn’t wear it well. “Ada Shelby! Of the ladies’ trousers.” 

“Better wearing trousers than stealing dresses. God, you are so fucking small-time it hurts. Getting boys to do your work for you?” Georgie and the giant were struggling at it again, and Ada skip-hopped a couple steps to the left and gave the giant an absolute whack to the back of the knees. “Guess it runs in the family.”

Gordon’s smile seemed a bit pasted-on at that point. “Get on with it,” he snapped, and a couple more boys started forward. Now there were five headed in Alfie and Ada’s direction. 

“Two and a half minutes and counting,” Ada said. “Might like to use your hat now, Captain.”

Alfie spun the cap in his hand, taking a step back towards Ada. All her fire and fury, they really could have used her out on the front lines. He gripped the back of the brim squaring himself up with the lad with the brass knuckles. "Two and fifteen seconds until?" he asked over his shoulder. 

Georgie scrambled to his feet after getting dropped and picked up his discarded tire iron. He swung hard at his kneecap, hearing a smart crack before kicking at his adversary’s hip to topple him over. He spun the iron in his hand and turned, spitting blood in the direction of the circle closing in on Ada and Alfie.

"Reinforcements." That was all Ada had the time to say before the pack were on them, and there was nothing graceful now, barely any strategy except moving, moving, always moving to keep from getting pinned down by any one cluster of fighters. With no watch, it could've been three minutes already or it could've only been thirty seconds, but pretty soon Ada had herself a bloody nose and half a sleeve torn, bruises expected all along the left side of her ribcage, and two boys down to show for it.

Alfie was sure to aim for the forehead as Ada suggested. He wasn't proud of it, cutting kids like that, but when you came to act like men, it should be expected that you'd be hurt like one. The scrawny lad with the knuckles was relentless and managed to land a couple hits to Alfie's cheek. Alfie countered him with an upper cut and aimed a kick at his middle to stagger him back. As he staggered, Alfie knocked him to the ground and knelt on his chest, carving the blade straight across his brow line.

Though the resulting stream of blood did completely get in the boy's eyes and take him out of commission. Alfie didn't have the time to observe his handiwork; almost as soon as he'd done it, someone else tackled him from the left, this one much bigger, a man, and a quick one at that. The brute grappled with Alfie, trying to pin him to the ground, but the man didn't have the weight for it, or the strength.

Vaguely, in his periphery, Alfie was aware of Georgie and Ada working together, using their weapons to try and keep others at bay, to keep from being overwhelmed, but with more and more men joining the fray, they wouldn’t last long.

Where the fuck was Charlie in all this? Was he the one sending reinforcements? Alfie grunted and rolled the other to the ground, kneeing him forcefully in the crotch, before punching his teeth in with a heavy fist. He scrambled to his feet and over to Georgie an Ada. He moved behind a man in front of Ada and yanked his collar forcefully, bending his head back in a sharp motion.

Suddenly, a big black car careened around the corner. Out came two policemen, one of whom was yelling vaguely in Gordon's direction, gun in one hand, handcuffs in the other. The other, a man with an oddly innocent face, jogged over. “Ch-Ch-Charlie wants to know if you want a-a-a-another hostage, Ada,” he said. 

"No, just don't let them get away with much if you can help it," Ada said tiredly. Her nose was spouting blood onto her dress, which was going to be an absolute nightmare to clean later. She turned to Alfie, surprised but not displeased to see a few unconscious fighters scattered round him. "You all right, Alfie? Breathing and all?"

Alfie pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and wiped a bit of blood and sweat from his face before offering it to Ada. "And all," he assured, tipping his head back. His face was throbbing, but he felt good. He felt alive. "Georgie? And you?" 

Georgie had dropped the tire iron as soon as the officers arrived, the efforts of compensating his lack of fingers with grip was killing his hand by now. "Fine. Might trouble you to set my nose when we get in," he muttered, touching the bridge. "Ada's not in a much better state? Are you?" If it wasn't so bleak, he might laugh at the state of the three of them.

"Not broken," Ada said, although the cheerful effect of it was somewhat dampened because her voice was stifled by Alfie's handkerchief being shoved halfway up her nose to stop the bleeding. 

The other policeman, who turned out to be a rather old man with gray hair and a thin face, sauntered up, dragging with him the notorious Gordon in handcuffs. Gordon was threatening away, but the other policeman just raised his voice and ignored his captor. “If your mother could see you now, Ada Shelby.”

“She’d be pleased I survived this long.”

“Mm. And who’s your friend, now?”

“Captain Alfie Solomons, Tommy’s... war family, long story.” Ada turned back to Alfie. “Curly can patch you two up and drop you off at home. I’ve got to go. Negotiations with this one.” She nodded towards Gordon.

Georgie nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright there Curly?” he asked, stepping in the direction of the car. Alfie followed, looking down at his torn knuckles. The cold air stung them a bit, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. Curly soon had them wrapped and Georgie’s nose pulled into place. 

Once back to the Shelby’s, Alfie let himself in, pleased to find the house was still asleep. He removed his coat and hat, and settled back into the chair, exhausted, but restless. His adrenaline was lingering.

The house remained quiet. Even Polly had gone to bed long ago, and there were only embers in the grate of the fire for any sound, light, or movement at all. They glowed a soft orange, and wavered, and then there was a voice, calling out. At first all it said was Alfie’s name, and then it seemed to get desperate, cracked in places, slipped into languages that Alfie couldn’t understand. As the voice got closer, it became a little clearer.

Alfie couldn’t move, not even a finger, no matter how hard he tried. The voice was Tommy, and he was begging for help.

Alfie blinked through inky darkness, trying to clear his vision. Being frozen was raising panic in his chest, and he tried to jerk his knees up or shoulder forward. He drew a big breath, attempting to return the call, but not a sound escaped. Fuck... Fuck! Move you fucking drek. "Tommy," he finally found his voice, "I'm here."

At that, the voice vanished. From over his left shoulder, there came more, all of them only faintly recognizable, and then the soldiers came. They came in clumps of twos and threes, sauntering like they had all the time in the world, swinging their helmets by their straps or taking swigs from little flasks, talking amongst themselves in their own language and laughing now and then. Without seeming to notice Alfie, they walked by him, nearly close enough to touch, and flowed past like a gust of wind. Alfie turned where he stood, following the ghostly forms as they pooled up a hill topped by houses, the crowded but cheerful buildings that Alfie vaguely remembered from Camden Town. 

One by one, as each soldier disappeared into his own house, the lights in each window winked out, until there was only one left. It was as if that flame came closer, and closer, and then wavered out with a whiff of smoke that felt cold but smelled of the pit on a warm day. 

Then a splash and sudden light, a much sharper voice and his neck aching badly against the back of the armchair, Polly standing over him with an empty cup in her left hand, a revolver in her right, painfully close to Alfie’s face wet. 

“—do talk too much,” was the first thing he could clearly hear her saying, quite matter-of-factly. “And what happened to you?”

Alfie's heart was hammering, and gasped for a breath as he blinked up to Polly with her revolver. He took a moment to gather himself as he wiped the water off of his face. He felt the puffiness on the left side of his face, and the sting of it helped ground him. "Ada had a project for me," he said, swallowing thickly. He didn't know how Polly would react to Ada swinging about a tire iron, so Alfie would leave it at that until he was pressed for more. He pulled the collar of his shirt up and wiped the rest of the water from his beard. 

"A fucking project," Polly said, as if the word project was a curse. "That girl. Well, you wouldn't come back like this if she was in trouble, at least." 

Although Polly hadn't been aiming at him, he heard the distinct click of the revolver's safety being put back on, and then she swung into the chair across from him, putting the cup aside on a low table, but keeping the revolver in her lap. "I came down to have a bite," she said, with no apology or explanation in it, although over her shoulder, the clock pointed to nearly four in the morning. "You didn't wake me. But as we're both here, I believe you have something to tell me."

Alfie shifted to sit up a bit straighter in the arm chair and rubbed his knees, looking at the speckles of blood on his wrapped knuckles. "Depends on what you want to know," Alfie said, assuming that it was about Tommy. "From what I've gathered from Ada, I don't think I have much more to offer than the letters that Tommy sent."

"I don't appreciate being helped. Being protected. Being lied to. You're guilty, Solomons, and good intentions don't mean anything to me. You've had a guilty look on you since I first met you, and it's even plainer in your sleep. So tell me what happened. Or what it is you did."

Alfie met her dark eyes across the dim room, expression souring. What had he done? He went along with Tommy's plan, he got out, the other didn't. Of course Alfie was guilty. Tommy had so much waiting for him in Birmingham. There were people who needed him home. "I don't need your appreciation, Polly," he said quietly, wincing as he crossed his legs. "You've got a sharp eye for guilt. I feel it, yeah, have since I left Germany." Alfie took a breath, shaking off the dream as he returned to the facts. Polly deserved that much at least, and he was prepared to face her temper should it flare. "Tommy received your letter about Michael and Anna. He showed it to me, and that was the day that he decided we would tunnel out." He began, walking her through each detail to follow.

From the time that Alfie mentioned her letter, Polly went absolutely still. She appeared to be listening to everything he said, but her eyes didn't meet his directly; they were fixed on his face, maybe an inch or two from his nose or his forehead or maybe she wasn't listening at all, except when he finished, she got up abruptly and went over to stir the embers with the poker, adding a log. 

“So he is alive, then," she said, when the log finally caught flame, still prodding at the fire for no particular reason. "It would make more sense if he wasn't. You coming here, bleeding for Ada not a day later, talking to him in your sleep. The way Ada was watching me when we met. It would make more sense if you had seen him die."

"He was alive when I left the camp. That's all that I know." As for Alfie talking to him in his sleep, he couldn't recall a conversation, just his name passing his lips once. What was unconsciously said made him nervous all the same. "I told him that I would do what I could to help with the children. Just because he isn't here, doesn't mean that I'm not going to follow through on my word."

Polly set the poker aside and turned to him. "All right," she said, not quite as sharply as before. She almost sounded tired "If he sent you...He wouldn't show you the letter if he hadn't wanted you here. I told him to come home and he's always been shit at obeying orders. But you already know that." After a moment more of consideration, she appeared to come to a decision. "If Charlie doesn't have work for you at the canal, we'll find something for you in the shop, and a bed when you can."

Alfie nodded. "Thank you," he was sure to add, watching the fire. "I'm sorry there isn't more that I can report to you. Perhaps you can help me though." Alfie folded his arms over his chest. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to get into the details, but he was awake, and the task before him felt overwhelming. "Ada said that Michael and Anna are likely in the hands of the Church. Now, that's not an environment that I'm fully familiar with. What can you offer me in terms of information? Anything may be useful."

"Children get taken and put into orphanages. Those are run by the Church, usually. Nuns may have run of the place, or priests, or some mix. Maybe even some hired teachers. Some of them are decent. Some of them deserve to die. There's some in-between." Polly hesitated, then added, "it's Anna I worry about the most. She's fifteen, and girls that age are likely to get adopted. Big families like to adopt older orphans to take care of their babies. That's the lucky scenario." Polly seemed to get lost in whatever she was seeing, and then she blinked back into normalcy. "Michael is eleven, and doesn't behave, so they won't likely ship him off anywhere. But I haven't been able to see papers, and they won't tell me a thing. I've been shut out from going to Mass, for making trouble. Sometimes Sister Rosamund will come over to pray with me. But I think they know, and even if they don't, she was just a novitiate last year. She's young. They don't tell her anything."

Alfie's gears were turning as she talked about them both. Anna may be easier to get than Michael, at least for Alfie. He may not have proof to give of a big Christian family, with babies to mind. He was a veteran though, a decorated one, who had sustained an injury. If he played it up, he may be convincing enough to take her as a live in assistant. A ward for wealthy war hero. Well, the wealthy part would have to come in time with the plan. "I'll go to St. Catherine's immediately.."

"You'll need someone with you," Polly said. "To remind you to cross yourself and all. To teach you how to cross yourself in the first place. Can't be me; they know me. Can't be Ada. Martha might do, or Charlie." She studied Alfie for a moment. "You do realize that they won't take kindly to a Jew lying his way into an orphanage to get at any of the children. And if they call the police, we won't be able to get you out. Five to one odds the police won't believe a thing you say."

"I suppose I have to make myself look a little more gentile then, hmm?" He'd uncover his head at least, maybe trim his beard a bit more closely. Alfie was theatrical and could pass well enough, but Polly was right, he was hopelessly ignorant when it came to Catholicism. He had seen men cross themselves before. Forehead, chest, left, right... or was it right, left? "I’m a fast learner. You can sit down with me and show me the rosary prayers and any other hoops I may need to jump through in their fucking circus."

Polly's lips twitched. "I did once teach Sunday School, when I was much younger," she said. "But let's do these lessons tomorrow. I'll need to make Martha's breakfast soon enough, and have a talk with Ada about her escapades before the shop opens." She disappeared upstairs, only to reemerge a minute later with a big quilt, which she tossed at Alfie. "With Katie around, we don't get much sleep anyway. So take it while you can. Goodnight, Solomons."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Gray." he responded, a small smile on his lips. He wrapped himself up in the quilt and curled onto his side in the chair, sure that he wouldn't be able to sleep after his dream. He laid still, thinking of Anna and Michael until he heard the rustling of Katie getting up out her bed and into Martha's upstairs. He eased himself up and folded the quilt, dropping it in the seat of the armchair. He'd go to the wharf today to keep himself out of Polly and Ada's hair, only after a spot of breakfast.


	8. I'm Glad It Was You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie and Ada get drunk.

Alfie said his farewells before he left the wharf. He was feeling good about his day of work. It was hard, but with the company of sweet Curly and capable Charlie, time had flown. He walked himself back to the Shelby residence, cooling off along the way. He knocked before letting himself in. 

"It's Alfie," he called out, so not to alarm anyone. He could hear Ada in the kitchen, Polly made no response, but Katie sat in the front room, tongue between her lips as she tried to press the torn off arm of her doll back in place. "Hello there, did Dad have an accident?"

Katie thought about it, nearly admitted to having caused its destruction herself, and then settled on, "'e got hit by a shell, like Flossie's dad. But I'll get a bit of glue from Polly and put him back together. Here." For no apparent reason, she shoved the wooden "Steve" figurine at Alfie, then picked up her doll and its arm and ran off to the back office.

Dinner after that was surprisingly welcoming. Not perfect, of course; this was the Shelby family. But it proved to be a pretty good pattern for his living the rest of the week. Polly was still overworked and standoffish at times, but she gave Alfie a generous helping of roast chicken and after the first few days, all ham and bacon disappeared from the family's diet. Ada darted in and out, only sometimes including Alfie in her schemes, but always needling him, criticizing his beard, refilling his mug, or arguing over the news in a way that made it clear she completely accepted him as part and parcel of the new house. Martha wasn't around much, or in much state to talk, but when she did, it was at length and about nothing, but so cheerfully it was difficult to mind. Katie grew to regard Alfie as a mix between her own personal furniture and repairman, and repaid him for his services by sharing some of the sugar cubes she liked to steal from the tea set.

As for Ada’s business, it ended up exactly as she predicted: Gordon had been straying from out of the watchful eye of his older brother in his attempts to expand their territory, and Ada’s negotiations with him were a complete flop. Once Greg heard of it, however, he reined his brother in enough that they could all get plenty of sleep at night once more, and the damage to the dress shop, while minimal, Ada repaid. Relatively simple business, she said to Alfie, if you know what these families are made of.

Anna and Michael proved a trickier matter.

Alfie had spent a few nights with Polly, going over prayers and scripture. While he was quick to learn, there was still always something more that Polly thought he could improve on as to not blow his cover. Time was of the essence, but Alfie trusted Polly to let him know when the moment was right. He found so much comfort being a part of the Shelby home; he often thought of what it would be like to start back over in London. He knew it was temporary and everyday he expected to receive his letter to report back to London's docks for France. 

After a long day of work under the watch of Charlie, he let himself into the house and smiled to Ada curled on the couch with a book. "You know, I wasn't expecting your Uncle to give me any pay," he said, shutting the door behind him as he fished an envelope from his pocket. He looked inside and counted the modest amount before approaching to hand it to Ada. "For my room and board."

Ada pshawed and waved away the money. "The only real cost is the food, and you've paid that over again with your fists a couple times. Keep it. Or better, come buy me a drink. If you're going to be a Peaky, even a temporary one, you've got to know your way around the Garrison. Georgie will probably be there too." She tossed the book onto a side table and went for her coat and shoes.

Alfie sat in what had now become his chair and adjusted the laces on his boots. God, he could go for a drink right now. 

"That's very good of you. I'm glad to get you a drink.” Then he thought about it: him going out with Ada, how it would look. Not that he was ashamed of her—any man would be lucky to have her—but on the off chance somebody misunderstood, he didn’t want it getting back to Freddie. 

“What about Danny?” Alfie added. “Does he go out often? I have hardly heard a peep since we got back." He smirked a bit and sat back, resting his head on the back of the arm chair. "Probably making himself a family man, the dog."

Ada rolled her eyes at him. "You don't get to preach against the family life, chopping up potatoes with Polly and all." She eyed her reflection in the mirror, produced a tube of lipstick from her pocket, and touched it up a little. "He's working as many odd jobs as he can, I think. Saving up for the wedding. But even if he didn't have a sweetheart, I don't think the Garrison would suit him anymore."

"Who said I was preaching against it? I've become a picture of domesticity. Do you know how long I sat working that chewing gum out of Katie's hair so she wouldn't have to cut it? At least an hour. Anyway, why don't you think the Garrison would suit Danny? Noisy place?"

"Anyplace there's men and drink, it's noisy," Ada said. "Come on, now." Tugging at his coat, she led him outside, locked the door behind them, and started off at a brisk pace. They chatted about nothing, and in no time at all Ada opened the front door to a bustling pub, the inhabitants of which all, down to the last man, turned and looked. 

Ada had neglected to mention a few pertinent facts: first, that she hadn't been in to the Garrison since John had left, because it wasn't common custom for single women to go anywhere and when they did, they occasionally needed the justification of force; second, that the Garrison had such regular clientele that any newcomer would be spotted in a second; and third, that the Garrison was a hub of gossip for just about every family in the surrounding neighborhood. But Ada, ignoring the looks she got from everyone, swung in with her usual aplomb, sat herself down at the bar, and ordered two whiskies. After a moment's hesitation, the barmaid obliged, and conversations started up again around them. A few men still stared, but there wasn't anything to be done about it. Ada ignored everyone but Alfie. “Do you see Georgie anywhere?”

Alfie paid for the drinks and craned his neck, spotting Georgie at a table, making wild swinging gestures. "I think he's a bit spent and drunk on glory over the Finsbury lads. He’s honestly enjoying how fucked his nose looks—he thinks it’s a badge of honor." Alfie laughed, picking up the whiskey glass and swirling the ice in it. "Let him tell his tales. He won't want us giving our input on a good fish story." He took a long sip and let out a breath, feeling calm and warm. "I'm concerned that I'm going to be overstaying my welcome if I stay in that armchair much longer. I know our business isn't exactly complete, but I was wondering if you knew of a flat I could rent temporarily. Rumor has it that the Shelby real estate business is expanding."

"You've been paying attention," Ada said approvingly. "But it's not apartment buildings yet. We're still not big enough. The same street that we defended has a place up for auction that used to be a bakery before both its owners went off to war. The widow needs money for medical expenses; we'll hire her on to run the place. And then the accounts books might take on some odd math, making more than we're selling, docks business." She smirked. "We're Shelbys. We can't get too fucking honest about it. But as for a bed, you're right. I've asked around, and Adele Riker has rooms for let. If you can stand being classed in the same company as Lizzie Stark, that is. Somehow, you don't strike me as the kind of man that would mind."

Alfie chuckled a bit, hearing plenty about Lizzie Stark by now. "Who knows? If the work down at the Cut doesn't suit me any longer, perhaps I could enter into business with Ms. Stark. I'm sure there are plenty of women who miss seeing whole men over seventeen and under fifty," he said. His mind flickered to Tommy in his bed for a moment. Just a moment of what it was like to lay next to him in the camp. They were all missing somebody.

"I'm sure they'd love to have a go," said Ada dryly, "But men leave Lizzie's place still marriageable; no woman could leave yours in the same state. And besides, you look a couple days over fifty-five to me." If she noticed the shadow passing over his face, she didn't let on. "You don't have to do the work to live in the boardinghouse, you just have to tolerate your neighbors. Or you can stay on the armchair and wait till I find better accommodations, whatever suits. Oh, fuck. Why are we talking room and board on a Friday night, Alfie?" She hit in the upper arm pretty hard but low enough to avoid his bruises. "Tell me one of your soldier's tall tales, or something. Or get drunk. Should we get drunk? I'm going to get drunk." She motioned to the barmaid for another pair, and this time paid for them herself.

"Fuck off with that. Fifty-five." he huffed, downing his drink and picking up the second one. "Fifty-five.. You're off nearly twenty years, love." Alfie laughed. Yes. Drunk and merry sounded perfect to him. "Right, a soldier’s tale..." He tried to think of one that wasn't too tragic. There were plenty of decent times to be had, some jovial, none of them particularly good. He took his drink in a shot and set the glass down, smacking his lips. "No. Fuck that. I'm in no mood to put my mind back in the trenches." He shook his head. Perhaps there would be a time for tall tales, but for now, it was all too fresh. He could hear the screams in his sleep, smell the rot of bodies in the summer still. France was still waiting for him. Nothing felt victorious yet. 

"I will tell you... I still owe Tommy a drink, many drinks it feels like. I had gotten shot in my leg, and like the stubborn boar I am, let an infection creep up. Your brother cleaned up what my weak stomach couldn't handle at the time and probably saved my life. Again." 

Ada watched him down the glass with raised eyebrows, and then, not to be outdone, followed suit. The whiskey scorched all the way down, and for a second, it was just her pulling faces. But then, as Alfie talked of her brother, the smiles got smaller, and she leaned in. 

“You always talk about my brother,” she said, “but you never talk about Tommy. It’s like getting the dimmest picture imaginable. You tell me the things he did, a little, but never what he said, or what he felt like, or.” She ran her finger around the lip of her glass, a nervous habit. The high-pitched whistle was lost in the hubbub of the pub. “You’re living your whole life for him, out here with us, the little time you have before the army takes you back, and I still can’t see for what. Even if he saved your leg, that’s...there’s nobody not by the name of Shelby I would do that for. Despite all the Marx and the rights of the people. I’m not sure I’d even do it for Fr—for any of my friends. Don’t get angry, I just. You know him now more than I do. I didn’t even know him that well when he left, I think. We fought.” Now she wasn’t smiling at all, not even faintly. “You don’t have to make it a war story, but tell me about him?”

Alfie gestured for a couple more. “Keep them coming until we say stop,” he said to the bartender as he slid his empty glass forward. He knew he kept talking about Tommy. He felt weak. Like he wasn’t able to keep himself from bringing him up whenever they talked about the war. “I have a lot of people that I can call on should I ever need help. A few that care about my well being. Fewer still that I would consider to be a friend. Tommy is... well, he’s a very good friend. He’s sharp. He likes to banter. He put up with my histrionics and called me out on my bullshit. There are fucking few like him, I tell you.” When a new glass was set in front of him, he just held it, wanting to pace himself while escorting Ada. She wanted Alfie to tell her about Tommy. What was there to say that wasn’t short of a declaration of love? “You know what a practical bloke he is, yeah? Something I fucking loved to do is sit with him and come up with hypothetical situations, puzzles for him to solve. Some completely mad, but just to see how he would take it. He hardly bat an eye at me.” Alfie finally smiled, remembering. 

A laugh bubbled from Alfie’s chest as he decided to take back what he said. “That’s a fucking lie, there were actually a couple times he batted an eye at me. I once asked him what he would ask the devil for in exchange for his soul. I got a scoff, but never a straight answer.”

"Tommy doesn't hold with the devil, or at least doesn't believe in demons anywhere except Earth," Ada said. "He was the first of us to go that way. Not the last." She had stopped running her finger along the rim of her glass, and settled into a slouch against the bar, one elbow propping up her chin. "He sounds like himself, but with bits missing. The Tommy I knew would have plenty to say about the devil, maybe throw in one of his voices for good measure." She smiled too, bittersweet. "Did he ever do those for you? He could mimic nearly anybody, when we were kids."

“Perhaps it was the time. I don’t think that the time that you want to think of eternal damnation is fresh free a fire fight.” Alfie nodded. “Oh yes, plenty of voices. Particularly Polly, I would have known her without introduction from you, just from the expression and voice that Tommy could do. He liked to mimic the more pompous officers. It would get a laugh from the other lads. Did he do his sleight of hand as a child as well?”

Ada nodded fast, a big smile breaking out on her face. "We all learned as kids, from our grandfather. I could take a penny out from up your nose and make you believe it was there all along. It's good he still has that. I don't know what good it'll do him, but it can't hurt to still have something from us." Another round arrived, and this time she sipped slowly. "Betting is going up that the war will end before Christmas," she said. "Odds nearly even. What do you think?"

“I feel like if it’s lasted this long, it could keep on going. I try to remain an optimistic gambler though. It’s only a matter of time before one side or the other is starved out.” Alfie could feel his buzz growing, and he took another long sip, savoring the sensation. “Is that a game that the Shelby’s actually have on the books?”

"Making coins appear is my specialty," said Ada. "Cards was Tommy's. Three-card monte was John's, and Arthur never got better than any of us at them, but he could do a bit here and there. Everyone's got to have a family tradition, and ours was cheating. Not exactly what you'd call stellar for the reputation, but then, our reputation was lost from the start. Polly says we might as well lean into it."

"She's a wise woman." Alfie hummed, fishing in his pocket for the envelope of money. He pulled out a quarter of his weekly earnings and set it in front of Ada. "Not for room and board, but I'm betting it's all over and done with by Christmas. I know you're off the clock, but you're a hard woman to get to during business hours." He chuckled and shifted his weight on the stool. Ada accepted the “bet” with a roll of her eyes. 

"You know who also has an affinity for cards?” Alfie said. “Freddie Thorne. I watched him rob blokes blind in the trenches and camp. He would hardly do it for petty cash, but if you needed extra rations, bets were that he would have them."

"Yeah?" Ada's eyes lit up. "He always did love food. More than you'd guess from how skinny he always was. It's good he was taking care of himself. Is taking care." Her lips twisted in a secret smile, and then she blinked. "Of course it's just vanity on my part," she added quickly. "We used to help each other with maths and I taught him some of the family card tricks. Against Grandfather's express orders, too. But Freddie's like that." Always against somebody's fucking orders.

"Oh not just food; cigarettes, whiskey rations, stamps, you name it. His bunk was a fucking commissary." Alfie caught the smile and lifted the drink to his lips. "Old family friends then? The way he and Tommy got on, I assumed that he had run with the Shelbys for a while."

"Yes. He was Tommy's best mate, for as long as I can remember. Barring of course the fourth-form three-week schism over something so stupid I hardly remember. And they joined up together. Tommy left it as long as he could, for Greta, and Freddie was being a stubborn Communist arse, but as soon as Tommy got it into his mind to volunteer for one of the most dangerous fucking jobs in the army, of course Freddie couldn't be outdone. Or maybe vice versa, I don't know. It's hard to tell with men when they're that drunk," she added bitterly, and then: "Are we drunk now?" Ada said suddenly. "It's feeling something, I am. But I sometimes can't tell."

"I could put away a couple more, but you're certainly rosy." Alfie chuckled. "I don't care to carry you home. Would you like to stop for now? I bet it'll hit you halfway to your house." 

"Let's just walk," Ada said, finishing up her glass. "When we get home, there won't be anymore talking, just—more paper, and Polly, and Katie, and all that. Let's—there we go, thank you," she said to a man who was bold enough to hold out her coat for her when she stood up. "Thanks, yeah, now fuck off, Harry," and miraculously, Harry did indeed fuck off. "All right." 

After finishing his glass too, Alfie went to pay for their drinks. He wanted to hear more about Tommy, though wasn't sure if he had the courage to ask everything. By the time he got back, he had made up his mind to just go for it.

Once they were outside in the cool autumn air, Ada was putting on a pretty good pace for a woman who'd drunk as much as she had. 

“About Tommy,” Alfie said, “I was wondering. Greta was a sweetheart of his, wasn't she? What was she like? I'm such a miserable friend that I never thought to ask." He wanted to wince at how obvious he sounded. Maybe the drink wasn’t helping as much as he’d thought.

"Mm.” Ada thought about it. “Greta Jurossi was Italian. She was clever, and she was sweet. She would pretend to bully him and he liked it, which was annoying. Because she was annoying. Because I could never find a decent reason to call her annoying. You know?"

Alfie nodded. "Absolutely, but perhaps not in the exact way that you mean." So, Tommy had always loved someone who would challenge him. Some things never changed. Alfie offered his arm to Ada as he heard a bit of slurring in her speech, and Ada took his arm without hesitation. 

"Was he always popular with girls in school?" Alfie asked.

"God, yeah. Which was even more annoying. He never landed on anyone except for her, but the way some of them would throw themselves at him was ridiculous." After a particular thought occurred to her, Ada grinned. "Actually, there was almost one other girl, but then she had to go with her mum to Liverpool and by the time she'd got back everything had changed. Bet you can't guess in five who she was."

Alfie laughed a bit at the thought of Ada jealous of her brother for all the women. Surely that hadn't been what she meant. "No, you're right. Then again, I think I may know only four other women well enough, not related to him, in Birmingham, so odds could be in my favor. Go on and tell me."

"Lizzie fucking Stark." Ada barely managed to dodge a pothole, she was laughing so hard over it. "Oh, I shouldn't laugh. She's had a hard life of it and I respect her more than most women I've ever met. But you should've seen Tommy's face when she turned him down! He wouldn't have asked her right in fucking public if he'd known it was a possibility."

Alfie laughed as well. "Serves him right for being a pompous fuck like that. Poor lad, though. I know as well as anyone what a shot to the ego that can be. Lizzie Stark, fuck me," he breathed, shaking his head. He steadied Ada and gripped her hand on his arm. The alcohol had finally loosened him as well, and his cheeks were glowing under the dim street lamps.

“Do you know, now? Big lad like you? Arms and all, sociable. I’m thinking you pulled more than well enough from your own.” Ada elbowed him affectionately, though it ended up jostling his hurt ribs. “Sorry, sorry.”

"Of course I fucking know. I don't think there's a person who reaches my age who hasn't experienced some sort of embarrassment in love." He winced, wrapping an arm around himself to rub his ribs. "I dunno. In school I was a menace. It's a shock that I don't have any children running about. I eyed a girl to wed with in my early years…It was never going to work out. She was a gem, but...” Alfie pursed his lips and shook his head. “I don't think I've gone steady with anyone since I was twenty, if you can believe it."

"You're a man; I can believe anything," Ada said dryly. "But maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you had children. You get on well enough with Katie, and it's one of those things. If we don't have a family, we can still make one. 's what Freddie always used to tell me, anyway." She looked up at him, crowding in a little. "What happened to you when you were twenty?"

"Nothing, you fucking gossip," he laughed, patting her cheek. "I was getting pressured to propose and so I left her. I didn't want that sort of pressure again until I was ready...and I just haven't been ready. I keep a warm bed usually, but the bedfellows understand that it's all temporary." Alfie sighed, and smiled, thinking of Katie. "I've thought of a family." He thought of children with blue eyes. "I may just have to settle my expectations a bit."

It wasn't just the booze, it was talking to someone she liked and trusted who wasn't either completely haunted (Polly) or so round they either had to pee or nap every half-hour (Martha). And it was Alfie himself. Once you got a bit of food and drink into the man, and you let him hit a few people upside the head, and he found his footing, he was loose and jovial after all. So different from Tommy. But maybe that's what Tommy needed.

Ada didn't mention any of this. "You tell me these expectations you have for the potential wife, and I'll tell you if they're reasonable or not." Before Alfie could open his mouth, she jumped in: "They're unreasonable." Then a cheeky grin. "Sorry, go on. Go on."

Alfie chuckled and tilted his head back to the sky. "Expectations of hypothetical...wife," he hummed, shutting his eyes for a moment before getting dizzy. "Fuck. Sharp? I like a woman who knows what she's talking about. Jewish would be a plus, but I can make exceptions. Someone who can reel me in a bit. I know how I can get. I don't want a wife who's going to just sit back and take my bullshit." He looked down at the cobblestone now. "Fiercely loyal, good in bed, and kind." He pursed his lips and nodded. "I think that those are the most important bits. Oh! And breathtakingly beautiful, of course."

"Perfectly reasonable," Ada said. "A little lenient, actually. I'd say all the same, and on speaking Latin, French, and German on top of it. Maybe a bride price. I feel like I'm worth half a dozen horses." When both of them happened to be looking down, they nearly steered into a lamppost. "Fuck." Ada looked around. "All right, home it is. Take a left. We're in no state to go exploring Little Italy."

Alfie turned left and pulled Ada along with him. "Oh, Ada, I'd say you’re worth at least a dozen horses," he offered, looking down to her fondly. He wondered if she would be shocked to know that he had thought of living with other men. That he had fantasies of her brother and a beach house. Would she ever talk like this with him again? He shook the thought aside, tried to remember what they were talking about.

"I hadn't thought much of a dowry, though I suppose I should,” he said, a little late. “I don't know, though, I feel like it should be me getting a groom price."

"A dowry is a 'groom price', you chicken," Ada said, clinging to his arm. Any other man and the line about her worth would have immediately sent her free hand into her pocket for the knife. Any other man and it would make her smile bigger and her heart race and get her all ready to run for when she said no to the inevitable kiss. But didn't feel like that with Alfie. Alfie was taken, sort of. She squinted, trying to figure it out in her head. Because he was Tommy's friend. A bit like Freddie was, but then, not that. She'd certainly have taken Freddie saying that in a different way. A different flavor, the two of them. For fuck's sake. Suddenly they were on the front step and she was fumbling for her keys and she still couldn't figure it out. Starting to get annoyed by it, too. There was something just out of the corner of her eye...

Alfie blew on his hands as he waited for Ada to unlock the door and followed her in once she had swung it open. “I appreciate dragging me along. It’s been a while since I’ve had a drink with such lively company.” It had been a while since he had had a drink at all. He fumbled with the buttons of his coat and hung it up, placing Tommy’s cap on its peg. Once free of his outerwear, he shuffled into the kitchen and began to fill the kettle. “Would you like any tea, or are you planning to head up?”

“Let’s have a cuppa, I’m not tired just yet.” Ada was determined to catch whatever insight it was that kept darting just out of her reach. Something about—she sat down, put her elbows on the table, and thought hard. Something about why she never felt like Alfie was flirting with her. Felt vaguely like it was because he was Tommy's friend, but then that had never stopped Freddie. So. She fiddled with a spoon that Katie had left lying on the table, doing her best to look bored. "When was the last time you were with anyone? Not fucked," she added quickly. "With. In any way that mattered."

Alfie lit the stovetop and stared at the flame for a moment as he lost himself in thought. He decided that he didn’t need to worry about Ada, as long as he was reasonably cautious. And he certainly wasn’t ashamed. Telling the truth of his last actual moment of intimacy would surely out Tommy, though, so it couldn’t be Germany. “France,” he said, glancing over his shoulder to her to gauge her reaction. “There were moments that mattered there.”

That, Ada quickly realized, didn’t help. Alfie could well be lying. But who would blame him? It was only a one-way street, at present. Maybe if she gave Alfie a little more, she’d get a little more.

She nodded. “Not too long ago for you, then...it has been, for me. War is a good way to prolong a mistake. Everything gets frozen the moment they leave for the front, you know? And then you’ve got plenty of time to regret it afterwards.”

Alfie cocked his head and leaned back against the counter. “Oh yes? Go on then, who have you been sitting and regretting?” he asked, putting the water over the flame. “You’re a very sharp girl. I hardly see you making mistakes in romance.”

“Matters of the heart, as Polly calls them, are tricky things. You can see clearly for everyone but yourself, that’s the curse of the Shelby women.” Ada spun the spoon in an erratic circle and stopped it before it skidded off the edge of the table. “Besides, I have cause to be careful. Good men are few and far between, and even if they’re good, it doesn’t stop them from stupidity.”

Alfie watched the spoon and nodded. “Who was your sweetheart then, a few years ago? Someone sent off to France, I’m assuming.” Alfie didn’t care if he was prying. He was fairly tipsy at this point, and if Ada was to dig into him, he planned to return the favor. Alfie pushed off the counter and moved to sit across from Ada at the table.

“He was never my sweetheart.” Ada thought about it, and then, why not? “You know him, though. Do you think I’d know yours?”

And there was the question, at last. 

“I know that you do.” Alfie looked down at his calloused hands. “Ada, if I tell you, I hope that we have an understanding of discretion.” His brow was furrowed in unmasked concern. He was not ashamed of who he was, but he knew Tommy was careful. On the other hand, Ada was most like Tommy. She would understand.

Ada put the spoon down. It made a dull sound against the table. Then she leaned over, put her hand on the back of his head, and kissed his cheek. Tried to, sort of, ended up with aim a little off and a bit of lipstick on his temple, but he got the idea. “I could always do with another brother.”

Out of all the reactions he could have gotten, Alfie had not been expecting that. He let out a heavy breath and pulled her into a tight hug. He buried his face into the crook of her neck for a moment, and then the kettle whistled. It saved him from saying many things, many foolish things; he let go, pulled away, before pulling away to deal with the hot water. Clumsily, he grabbed two cups and filled them with water, before adding the tea. He could feel Ada watching him, and finally he knew he had to say something.

His chest was tight as he said out loud, “I miss him.” 

“Me too.” Ada waited for her tea without moving, though before she’d been tempted to just hug him tighter and not let him go. But she understood, even drunk, that some things needed time to mellow.

Ada sipped a good half cup, letting all tension dissipate in the silence, and then she reached over and rubbed his arm. “He’ll be back. He’s too stubborn to do anything else. And in the meantime, at least he has good taste, hm?” She was trying not to cry. She had a lot of practice, but that didn’t make it any harder, and the drink didn’t help. She mustered a smile and looked right at him. “I’m glad it was you.”

Alfie put a large, warm hand over hers. He recognized her watery tone and wished that she knew he didn’t look down on tears. That her crying would validate all of the hurt inside of him. “That means a lot to hear.” He sipped back the last of his cup, lips curling into a small grin. “Of course he’ll be back. If I remember our last conversation, I didn’t let him have the last word. He won’t fucking stand for that, eh?” He squeezed her hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. “Something about fishing on the beach and curses from our mothers. I’m glad our last words were away from war.”

“Doesn’t sound much like our mother, curses,” Ada managed to say. “But fishing is more like him. He used to—used to sneak out at night and go sleep in the pasture. Maybe he wasn’t meant for the city.” Her fingers tightened around Alfie’s arm for a minute, and then she let go. “Think I’ll go to bed. I shouldn’t drink too much—makes me soppy. You sleep well, all right?” 

She left half a cup of tea behind, still hot. For all that she sincerely loved Alfie, and for all that she was glad she’d learned why he had come, she still didn’t want to be with anyone for this next part, trying to stay quiet in her own room so her sobs wouldn’t wake up Katie. If she was alone she could cry as long as she liked. If she was alone she could curl up on her bed afterwards without bothering to take off her socks. It was one of those nights.


	9. New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a crucial moment, Alfie is the man of the house.
> 
> (or, Alfie is really and truly part of Shelby family history now...)

Alfie stood behind Martha as she lingered at the butcher stand with her eyes fixated on the hanging pig carcass behind the booth. He couldn't be cross with Martha. She was now just past eight months. Her mood was constantly sour, and this morning she had been complaining about cramping in her lower back. Pacing wasn't helping, nor was Katie's fussiness, so she decided that she would do the weekend shopping. She insisted on walking and she insisted on going alone for a moment of peace. Though these demands seemed reasonable to her in her exhausted state of mind, Alfie was able to convince Martha to let him accompany her if he promised to not speak too loudly, too often, and to carry the basket. No, he couldn't be cross.

He was glad to carry the basket, speak in a gentle tone, but as he caught her grimacing in the corner of his eye, he couldn't help but speak up. "My leg is acting up. We should cab back to the house when you've finished up."

“No,” Martha replied fretfully, “Cabs are always more expensive on the weekends.” She was too frustrated with life in general and with the massive bundle of life growing inside her specifically to admit that she shouldn’t have gone out on a long walk in her state. She dearly would’ve liked to take a cab, but she’d just got it into her head that she could haggle down some soup bones and so actually achieve something that week by getting a bit more meat at a lower cost for her family, and the cab would more than wipe that out. Had she actually believed that Alfie’s leg was about to give out, her reply might’ve been different, but: “You haul crates around the wharf all week, and I don’t hear about the leg.” And she hated to be coddled when she was in a mood.

Without further argument, she turned back to the butcher and began arguing with him in some of the most vigorous and profane English he’d ever heard. As she argued, though, she winced more than once, and then froze as a dark stain appeared on her skirt. 

“All right,” she said, enunciating very slowly and very carefully. “Maybe. We should take…that cab.”

Alfie's brow furrowed at the splatter of water and he looked down to her feet. He felt a flush of adrenaline and embarrassment and took a step forward to her. The baby must have kicked her bladder. Did that mean it was trying to come out? Alfie cleared his throat and put his arm around her waist. "Come on, just a bit of a walk to the main road. Fuck the soup bones. Is it time for...it?"

“If we don’t get a cab in the next five minutes I may as well lay down and have this baby in the middle of the goddamn road,” Martha said through gritted teeth. When she grabbed his arm, it was nearly hard enough to leave bruises.

_ Five minutes? Fucking Christ. It's going to take more than five minutes to get home. Is she accounting for travel time? _ "Five? No problem. Here, just stand here. I'll trot up ahead and wave one down to wait." Alfie looked to her hands, still gripping his arm. "Stay put. Alright?" he asked, coming to a stop. He snaked his arm away from her and gave her cheek a reassuring pat before breaking into a run to the main road.

Martha didn’t do as she was told, of course. She tried to waddle after him and she made it a good thirty seconds too before another contraction hit her and she doubled over, cursing just about everything under the sun, but especially John for fucking off to some depot in Calais and leaving her to have his child out here with Mr. Trelawney openly staring and several small children with politer parents getting dragged away before they could have a good hard stare too.

Alfie pushed a palm to his forehead as he looked down the road, not seeing any cabs available. The street felt as chaotic as his thoughts. Bikes wove between people and horses, cars scooted around slow moving carts. Alfie stepped out into the road and held up his arm, stopping a vehicle and going to the driver side door. "I've got a woman in labor, I need a—Oi! Step off the gas! You—FUCK!" He slapped the side of the car as it slowly pulled away from him. 

The next car that Alfie managed to stop, he was less polite. Puffed up to his full height, he grabbed the handle and pulled open the driver door. "I need to borrow your fucking car, mate."

"No," said the man, affronted, and then his wife elbowed him. 

"That's one of Polly Shelby's boys," she hissed. 

The man looked Alfie up and down, not trying particularly hard to hide his anger and scorn, but then the woman elbowed him again and the man huffed, "Fuck's sake," and got out. The woman took a little longer, since her long skirts got caught in the door, but in less than thirty seconds, the car was all Alfie's.

"Thanks. Thank you," Alfie said, tossing the grocery basket in the back seat. He hustled back to collect Martha, helping her along with urgency to the waiting car. There was a queue in the road forming now, behind the idling vehicle that Alfie had commandeered. 

"Fucking calm down," he shouted to a man who was incessantly honking as he loaded Martha into the back. Alfie could see the owner of the car wringing his hands in his peripherals. "I'll have the car back here by dark." Alfie assured, shutting the door behind Martha before climbing into the driver's seat. “All in one piece.” 

Alfie slammed his door shut and hit the gas, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. He looked up to Martha in the rearview mirror. "No cab fare to worry about."

Martha was too preoccupied with contractions to take much notice of the car, the driver, or anything else, really. She stretched out in the back of the car, mumbling, and then thumped the back of the driver's seat as mumbling turned into yelling.

It was nothing short of a miracle that they didn't run over an unlucky pedestrian or get ticketed by a policeman, but at any rate they made it to the Shelby house with the backseat soaked but no baby in sight. It was Friday but not a payday, so there was only a medium-sized rush, plenty of men standing in line to place their bets and gawking as the car screeched to a halt.

"Well? Someone get the fucking door. Never seen a pregnant woman before? Fuck." Alfie snapped getting out of the driver seat to pick Martha up. "Come on, love. You're doing well. Keep him in there just a bit longer, yeah?" He adjusted her in his arms and made his way into the house. "Ada?! Polly? It's time. Where are the towels?" His stride was heavy as he stalked to the stairs to take her up to her bed.

Polly up and abandoned the till halfway through counting out change, whereupon her customer tried to reach over and get a wad of money. For that impertinence, Georgie reached over with his good hand and promptly broke two of the man’s fingers. After that, the crowd, though impatient, kept its peace, and Polly and Ada rushed upstairs after Alfie, Ada urging him not to drop her and Polly asking when the contractions had started. By the time that Alfie finally deposited Martha on the bed, talk had descended so deep into feminine matters that he was completely lost, and Ada just waved him off and told him to go help Georgie downstairs.

Alfie obeyed and went down into the shop, taking up Polly's post. His heart was still hammering, and he stared blankly a bit at Georgie before laughing. "Fuck me," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Our run in with Finsbury was nothing compared to that rush. Fuckin' hell. I just took a car off some poor sod." Still chuckling, Alfie looked down to the book where Polly last marked, and said to the next man in line: "D'you fucking see that?" 

The man, still a little shaken by seeing his neighbor’s hand get mangled, nodded cautiously. Georgie, in the meantime, was beaming and he slapped Alfie’s shoulder with all the force of his goodwill. “Good job you’ve been lifting all this time, Solomons,” he said, and then it was back to business, counting out change and laying bets and always double-checking the math so they didn’t fuck up a split. Some of the sounds that came from upstairs were wince-worthy, but at least the shop closed after an hour and a half.

  
  
  
  
  


Georgie hung around, looking awkward, long after they’d locked the place up. “Need any help, there, mate?” he offered.

Alfie looked to Georgie and wet his lips. "I wouldn't say no to a hand scrubbing out this car before I return it." He looked up to the floor above them, hearing another prolonged shout. "How long does it take? She was threatening to have the baby in the fucking street two hours ago."

Georgie shrugged. “I dunno. Danny’s wife took all of an hour at most, but then our mum said that was very unusual. And I have heard of a neighbor taking a whole day to get the kid out. Might as well get a start on that car.”

Neither of them knew exactly what fluids they were scrubbing down, and neither of them wanted to know. So instead, Georgie started in on a topic he thought might be polite. “Having any luck finding a new place to sleep? I did ask my cousin, but he says his landlord says there’s no openings.”

Alfie nodded. "Much appreciated. There's a room in Mrs. Riker's boarding house that'll be open on Monday. I'll be moving in then. Should be a lively spot, but I think it’ll be a quieter bed when there's a new baby here." He wrung out the rag into the street and reached for a dry towel to begin patting the floors. Alfie thought of the child, of the screams, and then of Katie, wondering if she was at all worried with her mother yelling like that. "If you don't mind finishing up the car, I'm going to put some supper on for everyone." Ada was probably too preoccupied to think about cooking, and he knew Katie had a schedule to stick to. "Just a stew, feel free to stay and have a bowl."

“Ah, if you’ll be all right, I might as well get back,” said Georgie, looking faintly embarrassed. “Got a, uh, broken cabinet I been working on.” He didn’t want to leave Alfie in the lurch, but he found the sound of Martha yelling to be absolutely bloodcurdling.

Alfie nodded and extended his hand. "Mind dropping the car off at the market on the way then?" he asked. "Keys are in it still."

“Sure thing.” Georgie shook his hand heartily, glad to get away, and then drove off as soon as he could. 

Alfie let himself back into the house and turned on the lamp in the foyer, surprised how dark it had gotten. 

"Katie?" he called, locking the front door behind him.

Katie, it turned out, was in the kitchen with several overturned items: pots, pans, a plate, and she was banging on them with all her might with a big wooden spoon and a fork. The resulting din was impressively loud and nearly enough to keep away the sounds from upstairs. When she saw Alfie, she kept banging away with the spoon but silently offered him the fork.

Alfie sat down on the floor with her and took the fork. He gave her a guilty look, sorry to have forgotten about her. "Do you want to help me cook dinner?" he asked over her banging. He started to lightly tap one of the pans until the noise upstairs stopped with her contraction. 

"Dinner, Katie?" he repeated. "Mummy's just getting the baby out. She's okay. It just hurts to get a baby out."

Katie nodded. “Ada told me. At church. but I still want music. Music is better.” She kept one big pot for herself and then pushed the other ones towards him, yielding them up in the name of dinner. “What will we eat?"

"I was going to make a stew, but is there something that you would prefer? I can compromise. We can make sandwiches, a cheese sandwich in the pan. I know you like when you have melted cheese." He grunted as he got to his feet and picked up a frying pan and the sauce pot from Katie’s yielded pile.

Katie considered this. She knew that adults preferred meat and things, and she knew that a roast was the pinnacle of Adult Food on good Sundays. And she wanted to be nice, since her mum was clearly having a terrible time. 

“Stew,” she decided. “But then you give me a cheese, just for me.” When she tried to bargain, even with herself, she sounded like her great-aunt. It was a funny thing. She looked up at Alfie for a minute, and then the shouting started again, and she went hard at the pan with her one big spoon.

Alfie nodded and cut off a large hunk of cheese for her, handing it down before he got to chopping and boiling for the women upstairs. He poured out three bowls of the stew when all was finished and patted Katie's head. "Keep up the music. I'll get you a dish when I've come back down, yeah?" He piled everything up on a tray along with three stacked glasses and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. He gave Katie a reassuring grin, more for himself than her, before going up to Martha's room. He kicked the door softly to knock before stepping back.

“What?” Ada demanded, and then, seeing the spread, she took the tray, said, “Thank you,” and shut the door. It took about fifteen seconds.

Downstairs, Katie had gotten tired of banging and was close to having a tantrum at the endless noise, but then the big chunk of cheese hit her and presently she was snoozing on the kitchen floor, leaning against the back cabinet.

It wasn’t until nine in the morning, when the shop had reopened, and Georgie was running the new odds, that finally the sound of a crying baby drifted down from behind the closed door. 

“Oi!” That was a shout from upstairs. It was Ada. “Alfie. Get up here.” She was too exhausted to have any hint of emotion in it.

Alfie obeyed immediately and took the stairs two at a time, before stopping in front of Martha's door. "Did it all go well?" he asked. The screams in the night felt more terrifying than the screams during the day, and Alfie had hardly slept at all, keeping an eye on Katie as they both camped out in the sitting room.

“Come in, come in.”

On the bed, Martha looked tired but clean, sipping a little from a glass of wine as Polly brushed her hair and murmured encouragement. Sitting at the end of the bed was Ada, whose clothes looked a bloodstained wreck, carefully cradling a tightly swaddled bundle that was producing more noise than anything that small had a right to. “His name’s John,” Ada said. “Don’t mind the crying. He’s had his first drink and he’s had his first shit. He’s fine. Do you want to hold him?”

Alfie watched Martha drinking and was immediately filled with pride at her endurance. "If I can," he said, surprised by the waiver in his voice. "Christ. He's so small. I don't think I've ever held one so small before."

“You’ll be okay. Just sit down here next to me and there will be no chance of dropping him, how’s that?” Ada patted the spot next to her. “He’s average for his age, really, he just came a little early. Here you are. Hold his head in the crook of your elbow, his neck’s not strong enough yet. There you are. Yes, there you are.” 

Though the baby was still squalling for all he was worth, he opened his eyes and paused momentarily to take in the new person holding him. His skin looked red, almost sunburned, though possibly that was just from all the fuss he was making; his hair was downy and light and his eyes were light too, somewhere between green and blue and grey. He had extraordinarily long eyelashes. When Ada finally let his full weight rest in Alfie’s arms, it was unbelievably light, lighter even than one would think from his size. Had to be less than half a bag of flour from back in Alfie’s bakery days. 

“Say hi to your uncle, Johnny boy,” cooed Ada, at which John Junior, ever obliging, screeched.

Alfie's beamed at that and held him close, bouncing him a bit as he wailed. Uncle. A title that meant more to him than Captain ever would. "I suppose you're John-boy now... And your da is just John. Not quite John Senior though, hmm?" he mumbled, stroking the flushed cheeks with the back of his forefinger. "Fuck, look at you. Good work, Martha. Congratulations."

"John will never be a senior anything," Ada chuckled, while Martha mumbled a faint, "Thanks," already drifting off to sleep. 

It took some time for John Junior to settle, but settle he did at last. It took several false stops, but then his mouth opened in a pink O, he yawned enormously, and then he closed his eyes, turning his head a little into Alfie’s chest. 

Polly had fallen asleep too, though not before taking a good long stare at Junior herself. 

“Nicely done,” said Ada. She patted Alfie’s back. “He’ll be a terror again in a couple hours, wanting milk, but can you have him for now? I want a nap.”

Alfie looked up to Ada in silent terror at the idea of being alone with the infant for a few hours, but when he saw the exhaustion in her face, he conceded. "Yeah. Katie will probably want to see her new little brother." He stood up from the bed and dropped a light kiss on her cheek. "Go on then, rest. You earned it." he mumbled, taking very slow steps as he walked the baby out of the room and down the stairs.

"Katie? Go sit on the couch. I have to introduce you to your brother. If you want to go nap in your bed, you may; the screaming's all over."

Katie rubbed her eyes and clambered up a little clumsily. The sleep had been long, but not a particularly good one. When Alfie didn't sit down fast enough, she stood on the couch on tiptoes to see the baby over his shoulder. "Is he mean?" she asked.

He held the baby so she could see him clearly and shook his head. "No. He's too little to be mean. He can't speak, so he cries when he needs something," Alfie explained. "Sit down and I'll let you hold him. You know, it's your job to look after him now that you're the big sister. Think you can do that?"

"No," said Katie. For once in her life, she wasn't being clever or contrary, either. Maybe it was because he was so little, but she looked distinctly nervous as she sat down and held out her arms flat and straight out.

He sat down with her and slowly put the baby in her arms, helping support his head. "That's alright. You have your mum, and Aunt Ada and, Auntie Polly to help you. You have me, too. No one's in it alone," he said gently. "See? Look, he's almost as small as your doll."

"Hm." For a moment, Katie was wholly focused on being careful, not moving at all as if she was afraid of the consequences of jostling him. But then it was physically obvious, the second that Katie lined up John Junior the baby and Dad the doll. "Oh," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "I'm going to make the clothes now. What do you think about red?"

Ultimately, Katie's tailoring urges were appeased by a few rags that she could use to make into clothes for Steve and Dad. Ever since that night, she was perfectly comfortable with Alfie. Maybe a little too comfortable--sometimes she climbed all over him when he was tired and sore from a long day at the wharf. 

That was another thing, dinner. After his third day fending for himself at the mercilessly plain board of Mrs. Riker, Alfie's bachelor existence was rudely interrupted by Ada barging in on the fourth night and dragging him away to come to dinner. After that it was back to usual, sleeping aside. There was plenty of talk that Ada heard, mostly about the nerve of that Shelby girl walking around in the open with that Jewish man, half-drunk sometimes, and taking him round to the Shelby house at all hours. But there was also the Shelby violence to contend with, so nothing came of it, and Ada ultimately decided that it was a good screen for Alfie, so she didn't bother herself about it. She knew that Polly must also hear these rumors, but Polly, surprisingly, said nothing on it to anyone. She wasn't sure if Alfie heard about the rumors and she wasn't sure that she wanted him to, so she didn't bring them up.

Polly remained mostly unchanged towards Alfie; she made no effort to welcome him more, but nor did she make any effort to push him away. She observed him in her own way and allowed him to partake more and more in shop business to the point that he'd transitioned to half dock work and half office work, which was a bit easier on his body. That said, with every passing day, eating hearty and breathing free (if not clean, at least it was free) Alfie's body was getting better for the work.

Martha helped out at work more than she did before; she said it was a good break for her, and on more than one occasion she ordered Alfie away from the table to take John Junior for half an hour. That young gentleman did not seem to mind, and was quite a straightforward fellow too: either he was hungry, he had just shat himself, he was tired, or he was happy. He got bigger surprisingly quickly, too.

Curly was allowed to come over a few times to see the baby, as long as he was gentle and had Alfie holding the baby, and that was pleasant. It was all pleasant, or as pleasant as things could be. Sometimes there were fights. Always there were dirty looks. Once in a blue moon someone in the house would pick a fight for no reason rather than dissolve into stress and grief; Ada, usually.

Katie was the worst for fighting; she seemed to have reached that age. But when school rolled around, all that energy went into learning how to read, which helped. And as things settled into a rhythm, Alfie found his own places too, one or two sandwich shops run by Jewish owners, and a good bakery, and a nice walk along the canal.

The new Birmingham life was better than Alfie expected. He had to keep reminding himself that it was temporary. There was a task at hand. Alfie's work searching for Anna and Michael had not fallen by the wayside. Anna had been tracked down to home for orphaned girls just outside the city. Michael was still not heard from. There were plenty of young men his age floating around in the system. Options beyond checking each Church run orphanage were starting to run out, but Alfie remained optimistic. He had to, for Polly's sake. The woman had done so much for him. 

He was thankful to have the company of Ada when he had a moment to breathe. She made him miss Tommy terribly, but the friendship that had blossomed between them kept his major demons at bay. The nightmares never stopped, but he knew that he had her to call on the moment he woke up. It made all the difference in the world. 


	10. I'm Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise.

Freddie hadn't sent anything in advance to announce his return home. After his release from questioning in London, he bought a ticket to return to Birmingham that same hour. He didn't have much on him. A knapsack with a change of clothes, enough food for a day or so, and a formal order for Alfie to return to London if he happened to cross paths. Word had reached London that the captain had gone north with the boys from Birmingham, though without Tommy in tow, Freddie couldn’t have imagined that Alfie would stick around long. He took the return order for Alfie all the same, with a sinking feeling that someone would be sent after Alfie sooner than he was ready to go back. 

Freddie arrived in Birmingham late. It was hardly any surprise to him that his first thoughts after he stepped onto the train platform were not of his own bed, but of Ada Shelby. The walk to her house felt instinctual. It was a walk he had taken a thousand times, and like a thousand times before, he stopped under the streetlight directly across the road. The windows were mostly dark with drawn curtains. People in the house were likely awake, and he knew that knocking at the door wouldn’t have been unwelcome. Freddie was exhausted though, and he didn't care to talk to Polly. He didn't want to see anyone except for Ada. 

He picked up a pebble from the road and looked up to the light at Ada's window coming through lace curtains, wondering if she was awake, or if she had fallen asleep reading and had left the light on. Well, only one way to find out. Biting his bottom lip between both teeth in concentration, he took aim and chucked the pebble at her window. 

Ada jerked awake from her E.M. Forster-doused dreams with a sense of joy and expectation that faded as soon as she saw the faded dress hanging up to dry on the slightly open door of her closet. It was only dreams. The year was 1918, she was a grown woman now, and there was no Freddie Thorne about to take her on a night of adventures. In fact, she had recently begun to suspect that there was no Freddie Thorne, full stop.

Piqued and exhausted, she threw the book so that it landed haphazardly next to the short stack of books along the far wall that served as her own personal library. Then she turned out the light, huddled down under the covers, and hoped that maybe if she fell asleep fast enough she could find her way back into that dream and open the window and see him standing down in the street below with his stupid trousers always a little too short because he grew so fast and his hair cut too close because his mum was afraid of lice and—

Freddie cursed as her light turned off. It had only been enough to wake her up. He moved to the curb again and grabbed another pebble. He tossed the one again a little harder and craned his neck. "C’mon, you beautiful idiot," he muttered, taking a step back so he could be seen properly in the streetlight. Perhaps it would have been better to call before the train.

Just as Ada had gotten so desperate to sleep quick that she'd literally started to count sheep, there was another thunk. It couldn't be a dream. It couldn't be a coincidence. She threw off the covers and ran over to the window, undoing the latch and flinging it open wide.

What she saw below nearly made her fall out the window. It made absolutely no sense. “Freddie?” Didn’t feel like a dream. Her thin and twice-patched nightie was no match for the late October wind and she could feel the metal of the sill where she gripped it hard and down below, Freddie did not look young. He looked painfully tired, and a little strange, coat smudged and face gaunt. 

“Stay—stay the fuck there,” she commanded, breathless, and then she turned and raced down the stairs and out the front door.

Freddie didn't plan to move a muscle, not until he saw her again. His heart was beating so quickly it made his throat ache. Though Freddie looked years older to her, she had hardly aged a day in his eyes. As her front door opened, Freddie dropped his bag in the road and moved to scoop her up. Hasty, undignified, he picked her up as he hugged her, not wanting to let go. "Oh, my Ada," he breathed, arms strong around her back despite his weakened frame.

"Freddie," she sobbed, holding him as tight as she could, both hands fisted around his coat, knuckles white. That was all she said, his name, before she started crying in earnest, her face in his neck, crying like her heart would break. Two and a half years she'd spent in an unbearable half-state, gone on a man she had no right to be gone on, devouring what scraps of him would appear in Tommy's letters and then trying not to mourn when those letters stopped. And now that he was there with her, the rest of the world dropped away. It wasn't likely real, but that wasn't any of her concern. She had held herself in for just under a thousand days, and now she just let go. He sounded right, when she could hear his voice. He sounded like himself, irrelevant to time, who he always had been and always would be. Freddie Thorne. And from the feel of his arms, hers.

Freddie slowly set her so her feet touched down again. He let her stand on his boots, knowing the pavement was too cold for her bare feet. He rubbed her back and stood in silence as she sobbed, quiet tears rolling down his cheeks as well. He sniffed and cleared his throat as her sobs softened, trying to swallow the knot that kept rising up. He let go of her just to shrug off the trench coat and put it around her bare shoulders. He could smell her perfume still left over from earlier in the day. His lips trembled. 

"C'mere, you." Freddie cupped her cheek and wiped her cheek with his thumb before pulling her into a kiss.

Ada kissed him hard, leaning into it. On tiptoe, she pressed into the worn leather of his boots, into him, her arms around his neck for balance, hands holding onto his collar in case he might move away even an inch. She kissed him through a breeze that sprung up around them, and kissed him in the stillness that followed. She kissed him when the hum of the city had nearly reached pure silence and she kept kissing him when a dog two blocks down barked at a passing drunk. And when she was done kissing him, she wasn't done kissing him but she wanted to have a look at his face, so she held onto him with one arm still looped around his neck and pulled back just a couple inches, face hardly even forming a smile because all of her mind was so concentrated on the sight that she couldn't even put together a clear expression. 

He looked thin, very thin, and his dark eyes under that streetlamp had gone luminous with love and excitement. She traced a line with her thumb down the side of his head, through his hair, for no reason at all. Had no idea what she was doing really, or where she was. Just, she'd had so much tenderness to give him and for so long. It had to start coming out now, immediately, in any way it could. 

"I'm yours," she said, and that was redundant after all they'd done, but she still wanted to say it.

Freddie blinked as more tears fell and let out a choked laugh in embarrassment. He couldn't remember feeling happiness like this. It had been years, or maybe it had never been like this before. Either way, it was overwhelming. At her words, his smile grew to show new wrinkles. 

"I've always been yours, Ada Shelby. You ought to know that." He rubbed her back as he ducked his head to kiss her tears from her collar bone. "Let's get you back inside before you catch something. Care to host a poor, bedless soldier until Polly wakes up?"

"Oh fuck, Polly." And then Ada laughed, and sniffled, and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and the whole outside world came to life again. "God, all right. All right, come in. Come here, you." She hooked a couple fingertips under his chin and drew him in, kissed him again, hard, until another wind sprang up and chilled some sense into her. "All right. Tea," she said firmly, as if that put an end to her nonsense, and then kissed him again, quick (nonsense still abundant), and then led him into the house, holding his hand in hers, tiptoes on the cobbles. Then she shut the door and locked it behind them, still holding his hand.

Once inside the house, door shut firmly to the outside chill, Freddie pulled her flush against him again. He was starved for touch, and everything about Ada that was both soft and sharp. From her lip, to her tongue. He kissed her neck, going from her shoulder up to her hairline just behind her ear. His stubble grazed her ear and his warming fingertips pressed into the thin nightgown and the softness of her back. "Tea. Yes,” Freddie’s hand slid from her back to hold her by the waist. “I could, I could do with a cuppa," he mumbled between kisses. Freddie pulled back with a devilish grin back on his face, trying to take her all in. "I haven't slept in a day, but I don't think I'm going to be able to close my eyes tonight."

"I think that depends on how thoroughly I can exhaust you." Ada smirked, and then kissed him again. There wasn't an ounce of hesitation. They'd both been so good and so fucking patient, now was not the time to give a damn about anything else. "Freddie?" She murmured it against his lips. "Forget about the tea." One last deep kiss, one faint prickle of teeth dragging against his bottom lip, and then she was leading the way upstairs.

“Ada?” It was Martha, sleepy and confused, from Ada’s bedroom. “Why’s your window—oh.” She stared a moment, and then quite deliberately looked at the ground. “Goodnight,” she said to the worn floorboards, smiling. 

“Goodnight,” said Ada firmly.

Then Martha went back to her room, the one across from Ada’s, and closed the door with a very distinct click.

Freddie watched Martha go, ears pricking red as she brushed past them. He pulled Ada's door shut as soon as Martha was gone and let out a snicker. "So much for sneaking," he whispered to her, smiling wide. He bent over and untied his boots, setting them next to the door to keep from making any excess noise. As soon as he was free of them, he scooped Ada up and put her down on the bed. Freddie crawled over her, parting her legs with his knees before claiming her lips again. "Did you dream about this, Ada? I did."

"I think I might be dreaming now," she said in a half-whisper half-laugh that melted into low murmuring sounds of happiness and pleasure when they kissed again, deeper this time, tongues and teeth and it took her half a minute to remember what she was doing and fumble with the buttons of his shirt. When was the last time they did this, '13? They were different now but she could fix that, wanted to see him as he was now. She wrestled it off his shoulders, still kissing him, and ran her hands down his chest, his stomach, felt him different, a small scar, and then pulled away, breathing in like she needed air. (She didn't.) But then, instead of looking down, she buried her face where his neck met his shoulder and kissed him hard enough there to leave a mark, hands fast at the button of his trousers. "C'mon."

Freddie didn't need further invitation. He pulled her nightgown up to her stomach, stuffing his hand up under the hem to feel at her breasts. He let out a soft groan at her eager lips on his neck. His thumb brushed across her nipple. She was so soft. He suddenly became aware of how rough he might feel. How different it must be to how she had imagined this. Freddie pushed the dress up higher. "Raise your arms," he ordered gently, tugging it off her completely. Freddie ducked his head again, attaching his mouth to her chest as he rolled his hips forward, encouraging her to undo the strained button of his trousers.

The button broke, and good riddance to it. Once Ada gave up on kissing him for the space of three seconds, she had his trousers and pants off in no time, or at least shoved far enough down his legs for her to take him in hand, eyes bright and sharp on his face, fingers in his hair pulling as rough as her fingers on his cock were gentle. She wanted to see his face. 

Afterwards, she curled up next to him, one arm across his chest, and resolutely ignored all relevant questions. Too busy smiling.

Freddie settled himself against her as her big spoon, arm behind her head. He was smiling as well, at a loss for words, and a bit out of breath. He turned his head to rest his nose against her hair. 

"I'm sorry I didn't write." he said after the silence had settled between them. "I made sure Tommy passed on my regards, though. He did, didn't he?" he asked, free hand taking Ada’s that was resting on his chest.

"He did," Ada said dryly. "He can't get the stick out of his own ass but he can tell me every week to let go of my pride and, well, I hate it when he's right. Thankfully it's not a common occurrence. But it is annoying." She interlaced their fingers, then pressed their hands to her chest, above her heart. "I should have written to you directly. But it's over now, all that—childishness. Or whatever it was. I trust us more now."

Freddie nodded and grew quiet for a moment. "I'll have orders to go back. I don't want you to think I'm home for good, quite yet." He would write to her then. Everyday. His thumb rubbed against her chest, feeling her heartbeat. "I've got a couple weeks to recoup and recover, they're going to send me a notice to report. Since I'm not... I'm not physically injured and they need..." His smile was disappearing as he reminded himself of the devastation that he felt when he was told he was expected to return. "They need to have men 'like me' back there, apparently."

Ada closed her eyes. "Every country and every cause needs men like you," she said. "Just because they need you, doesn't mean they deserve you." She brought his hand up to her lips, kissed his knuckles one by one. There were calluses on the inside of his hand that she could feel with his fingertips, marks of the work that he'd been forced into when she wasn't there to do a thing about it. 

"You don't have to go back," she said, after a while. "I know people, still. I've stopped going to meetings," she admitted, a little ashamed of it, but hoping he'd understand. "Can't do it, when I have the business too. When the war is over, when my brothers can have it back, I'll make a clean start, but as it is. I think it's just insulting to go. Nonetheless I do still know enough people from the Party to find you a way out. They hide conscientious objectors in the countryside where they can't be found, or find places for them overseas. I don't want—" Any of it. She didn't want him to leave Birmingham for any reason, but that much had already been apparently foreordained. "I want it to be a choice for you. Even if it's a rotten one, a choice is better than nothing."

Freddie turned his head and kissed her firmly on the lips. "My Ada, always one with backroads," he murmured. He thought about the meetings and couldn't help but smile softly, glad that the winds of war hadn't completely snuffed out the resistance in Birmingham. The men who hadn't volunteered early as he and Tommy had, were certainly ripped from their homes, whether to France or they were forced to go into hiding. Freddie considered himself an objector now. The idea of going back was nightmarish.

"I'm glad to have a choice." Freddie propped himself over her again, still holding one hand. He leaned down and planted a kiss to her jaw. "I'm here now, and I'm going to just think about what I'm doing in the present for once. We'll discuss it when the notice to report comes."

Ada nodded, but it was half-hearted. She wanted to go back to their bubble, all tongues eager and hands exploring territory old and new, but her mind had escaped the bounds she’d tried to impose on it and now all manner of questions were crowding in. 

She fought it for a minute only, running her fingers through his thin hair. Then she sighed. There was one thing she couldn’t let go of. If Freddie had good news about Tommy, he’d share it immediately. So he had bad news, or no news at all. She didn’t know which was worse.

“Freddie,” she said, voice quiet and even, “Is Tommy—he didn’t come with you, did he?”

Freddie knew she had to ask, even though his answer was obvious. He shook his head, feeling the scratch of Ada's nails against his scalp. "He didn't," he said quietly. "The last I knew, he was taken in for questioning." Perhaps that was a good sign. He had thought it over plenty of times. Tommy was good at convincing why he was useful alive. Freddie had never heard a silver tongue of similar caliber.

He rolled off of Ada and slid an arm around her shoulders. Tommy had talked about feeling a change in the world when Greta had died. Freddie thought that maybe he would feel the same difference if Tommy hadn't survived that night. He hadn't, so that was the only consolation that he had. "Have you heard from any of the others?"

No news, that wasn't so bad, Ada told herself. It's what she'd expected, deep down. She snuggled down into Freddie's shoulder and went through the headcount of Birmingham soldiers, ending with: "Danny seems to be doing alright. He had a check-in with a doctor and was pronounced unfit, dishonorably discharged. So that's something. And there's Alfie, here with us." She scanned Freddie's face carefully, simultaneously secure in the knowledge that he was hers and aware that whatever web of relationships included Tommy was bound to be a delicate one. "He's getting near to family now," she said.

That took Freddie aback slightly, though he did his best to mask his surprise from Ada. "Is he now?" Freddie gathered that the relationship between Tommy and Alfie was more than that of bantering mates, but for Alfie to be residing in Birmingham, that was a step further than he had expected. "They want him back, Alfie. I've got a letter for him in my bag. I didn't think I would've seen him all the way up here. Why did he come?"

"Tommy sent him. Michael and Anna got taken by the police, Polly's been a wreck, and I'm." Ada bridled, then flashed a self-deprecating smile. "I get a little ambitious when the boys are away. Cause I need something to do. So. Alfie's been helping out, and I think that's what Tommy wanted." She glanced at Freddie. "Who's the letter from?" She hoped it wasn't from someone Alfie had left behind, but she didn't quite know Alfie well enough yet to be sure. In these wartimes, things were difficult. Families got shaken up. Maybe Alfie had been avoiding something in London as much as he'd been seeking something in Birmingham.

"The war office. It's a letter to report." Freddie answered, turning his head to the side to look at her. In the light from the street lamps and moon, he could make out the curve of her nose, the bow of her lips. "I can't imagine him leaving to go back but, they'll have a warrant sent out for him if he hasn’t reported to their office by the 20th." He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore how exhausted he was now that he was safe and lying down. "Ada, I'm here now, I don't want you to think you have to be a soldier at all times now. Goodness knows I don't want to be anymore."

"You deserve to rest," Ada murmured, pressing her forehead to his cheek, fingers tightening a little on his shoulder. "But I'm not ready for it. Not yet. None of this feels over for me, and I've had enough of the sidelines." She glanced up at him, at his brown eyes soft. "We'll sort all this out tomorrow," she said. "Close your eyes." Briefly, wildly, she contemplated asking him to marry her in the morning, but that wasn't a thought conducive to either of them getting any sleep. It could wait. She wasn't sure if they could sort out any of their problems, but she was sure she could get a yes from him at any time. Or he from her. And that felt good.

Freddie's lips found hers and he kissed her tenderly, savoring his last few moments of consciousness. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured, a grin on his face as he pulled away from her. He rolled to his side, pushing Ada with him before pulling her into a snug little spoon position. Freddie laced their fingers and wove his legs between hers, wanting to be completely entangled with her. He’d waited so long for this, he thought he’d better get his fill. From the way settled against his body, Ada felt the same way. 


	11. Don’t Be Late For Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfie goes on an undercover rescue mission.

A few days later, while Freddie was napping upstairs, Ada was looking over Alfie's outfit with a critical eye, fussing a little over his tie, which was mostly an excuse to stay close. Ever since Alfie had told her, however obliquely, about his relationship with Tommy, she'd felt more protective of him than ever. But when they weren't drunk, she didn't know how to express the same sisterly affection she'd like to give to him, not in words, aside from the kind of hair-ruffling, shoulder-punching intimacy they already had. 

"It needs something," she said. "I don't know what." After disappearing upstairs for a rummage in Polly's room, she came back with a pocket watch. "This was Grandfather's. Definitely stolen, but gold is gold." She tucked it in his pocket, making sure to hook the chain so it was visible. "There." She stood back. "If Anna protests, find a way to tell her I sent you, all right? Tell her that her mother's waiting. Or." She scratched her cheek, looking anxious. "Something that would prove it...you have a decent memory, right? Tell her this." She pronounced, slowly and clearly, a short sentence in Romani chib. "That means don't be late for dinner. Short and sweet and it's exactly what Polly would always say before letting them run out. Something from home." She handed Alfie his hat, the finishing piece. "Are you sure you don't want someone to go with you?"

Alife mulled the sentence over in his head a few times as he looked himself over in the mirror. Ada had added a bit of shadow to his eyes to make them look more sunken, some rouge to his nose as if he had spent an entire day blowing it. In his pocket, next to the watch, was a thick envelope of bills from last week's bets. A ransom to be paid for Anna's safety. A donation to the church, technically. 

"I'm sure," he answered, raising his chin to hold himself like some posh fellow he’d smirk at on the street. Alfie picked up a cane that had been resting against the couch and turned it over in his hand. There was a bit of discoloration that could only be attributed to blood in the embellishment on the silver handle, but it wasn’t noticeable. "It's a safer job with just one." Just one and Charlie posing as a driver. He turned to face Ada and crossed himself, a way to show that he had committed his lessons to memory. "She'll be home soon enough."

"In time for dinner, I hope." Ada gave him a nervous smile, then threw her arms around him. She couldn't help it. "If I prayed, I'd be praying for you," she said, muffled, into his shoulder. "As it is, I'll be here if it goes wrong." And they both knew that somewhere along the line it was bound to go wrong. He was well overdue to report back, and he was officially a deserter now. "Well." She peeled herself away. "Mind you bring that watch back, or Polly will have my guts for garters."

"The watch will be my second priority," he assured, craning his neck to see Charlie pull up in the polished car outside. "Right, I'm off." Alfie pressed a kiss to her cheek and leaned heavily on the cane, finding it actually gave some relief to his sore leg. 

Walking outside, testing out an exaggerated limp, Alfie gave a grin and a tip of the hat to Charlie before climbing in the back seat. "Hope you brought a paper with you. God knows how long this may take."

"I'm just the driver," said Charlie grimly, as if to remind Alfie that all the heavy work would be on his shoulders. But, after the long drive there, Charlie said "All right, Alfie," and it was in a voice that was nearly friendly, not Charlie's usual abrupt tone. "Good luck to ya."

Alfie smiled. Today was the day that Tommy's work would get its due. So many men owed him their lives, and recovering Anna and Michael had been the catalyst for their breakout, so Alfie felt an obligation to at least finish what Tommy had started. 

The convent itself was a pretty old-looking place, solid stone walls decorated with intricate carvings of very solemn-looking men. It wasn’t any use to ask why in a place filled with women, the decorations were all of men. Shuffling groups from here to there, maybe. Maybe it'd originally been meant as a monastery. In any event it was pretty silent. No ringing bells, not even much childish chatter. And the nun that answered the front door when he knocked even spoke in a quiet voice. Quiet, but stern, suited to the iron gray of her hidden hair.

“You must be Mr. Trevelyan. Come in, please.”

"Mother Superior." Alfie greeted removing his hat as he stepped into the cool abbey. He tucked it under his arm and took a deep breath as he looked around the austere foyer. "Thank you for your response to my letter. I've heard nothing but glowing recommendations of the young women who come from your care."

The woman appeared to be faintly—very faintly—pleased. "Thanks to the grace of God and the generosity of our patrons, we're able to give them a decent education. And of course, we wouldn't allow any young lady to leave our care if we thought she was unsuited to the task at hand. Come in, please." She ushered Alfie into an office, and then gestured towards a chair that faced her small desk. "I understand you're looking for a caretaker. Could you tell me a little more about your circumstances? We do our very best to make suitable matches."

Alfie followed her, cane echoing in the stone hall as he followed her into the office. He set his hat on a coat rack next to the door and let out a held breath as he eased himself into the chair. "I am. Yes," he agreed, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his brow and neck. "I've a small estate outside of the city in Bordesley Green. A driver, a cook, but my housekeeper has recently put in her notice. Age is keeping her from being able to meet the demands of the job. Along with being able to run a household, there are certain activities that I need assistance with in my day to day that my condition is preventing me from accomplishing independently."

The woman frowned. It was a very tiny frown, mostly to do with a few wrinkles in her forehead, but it was there. "I understand. I would absolutely hate to infringe on your privacy, but simply so I can understand the extent of your needs, could you elaborate on what you mean by assistance? If your leg is giving you trouble, for example, it's more likely that one of our older young ladies could help you better." It was delicate, dealing with men, she thought. Especially getting them to admit to their infirmities. But she always felt uneasy sending girls off into situations she didn't understand. If the man was expecting to be bathed, that might be a deterrent. Some girls wouldn't care. Some would.

"Of course. My apologies for being vague, Mother Superior," Alfie hummed, adjusting in his seat. "You see, when I was a young man, I was thrown from my horse while riding and broke my collarbone, my femur, and shattered my tibia, the shin, ma'am. By the grace of God I was able to recover from most of my injuries, but my leg never set correctly. I have trouble with long walks, stairs, getting in and out of my bed. Occasionally I use a wheeled chair. I'm hoping for a housekeeper who is able to keep my home, but also able to assist me with remaining mobile." He adjusted his grip on the cane and looked up to the crucifix over the Mother's head. "It is also my wish to have a young woman stay in my home for companionship. As you can imagine, my life at Bordesley Green is rather solitary. My only regular excursion is to the cathedral on Sundays. If I could have someone to read to me, to speak with over dinner, it might go a long way to making life tolerable."

"Ah." She visibly relaxed. "That's understandable. And I'm sure it will do one of our girls some good to have some exposure to different kinds of living. Fortunately, I do believe that the young lady I had in mind will be well-suited to you." She pulled one of the five small ropes that hung from the wall, which clearly rang a bell somewhere else. For only a minute later, a nun arrived with a girl in tow. 

The girl in question was very clean and very tall, with sandy hair and green eyes. On the early edge of seventeen. "Mother Superior," she said, curtsying prettily to Alfie as her escort disappeared. 

“Victoria, this is Mr. Trevelyan. Due to some health complaints, he has need of a housekeeper. I've told him that you are not only capable, but eager to spread the love of God through diligent service to your fellow man. Am I correct in telling him this?"

"Yes, Mother Superior," was all the girl said. But she didn't look particularly resentful when she said it. Whatever she saw in Alfie was clearly nothing too bad.

Alfie fiddled with his cane, gears turning in his head as he tried to think of a way to get a few options to choose from without appearing suspicious. 

“Victoria, enchanted,” he said, bowing his head to her. “Forgive me for not standing.” He turned his attention back to the head nun. “Mother Superior, I was hoping we could speak at length what I’m expecting from a housekeeper.” 

What fault could he find in Victoria? So far, none. She was polite, calm, pretty, and pious. Ah, pious. Like a nun’s life was something that suited her. “Meaning no disrespect to you, Victoria, but I don’t care to go through this process again if you decide to take the veil. I don’t deny there will be work, but I am looking for a girl to be something like an adopted niece. I have more requirements than just in home mobility. ”

The nun felt a small shadow of doubt creep over her. She'd had people insist on ages before, but they usually wanted girls older and more capable, not younger. Younger girls tended to be less competent. But weaker. Defenseless. Nonetheless, he hadn't said anything officially wrong and she had no concrete reason to deny him anything. With rich men, sometimes she could still get what she wanted if she made them think it was their idea, not hers. 

"I understand you've had some bad experiences with household turnover," she said sympathetically. "So we can take age into account, of course. But none of our girls younger than sixteen are ready quite yet." She paused, at the sound of the bells. "Why don't you serve Mr. Solomons some tea, Victoria? You two can talk. In the meantime, I'll gather the rest of the girls that might be eligible and interested, and you can see them. Would that suit you, Mr. Solomons?"

"Tea would be lovely. Thank you for your hospitality," Alfie said, leaning back in his chair. He adjusted his grip on the top of his cane, watching as Victoria curtsied again to the two of them and left to fetch the tea cart and a hot kettle. "She's a charming girl, really. I hope she doesn't take that personally." Alfie reached into his pocket and fingered the envelope of cash, wondering if now was the opportune moment. "Before you get the rest of your girls," he began, pulling the envelope out. "A few more requirements. Three years of insured service, sharp witted, musically inclined, and a love for horses. I still keep a stable and would like to see them well loved and ridden." It was the most he could offer without making a direct request for Anna. He set the envelope on the desk and tapped it, looking up to the nun. "I hope that this can be an adequate apology for my particular requests."

It wasn't exactly subtle, and it didn't make her happy, but the money did help Alfie's case. Maybe when she began as a novitiate, back when people were more likely to call her Katie than Mother Superior, she'd have been repelled by the money, but she knew much better than that now. They had mouths to feed, new boots to buy, paper and pens to keep in stock, repairs to the abbey. 

What really comforted her, though, were the other specifications Alfie had. Now it all made a lot more sense. The man clearly had a picture in his head about what kind of girl he wanted, not just as a body but as a person, and that was difficult and sad but more trustworthy a motive than anything else. Maybe he regretted not being able to have children, or maybe he was trying to recreate a family member or friend he'd lost. A possibility of being obsessive, yes. But sexual danger was much less, and that had always been her primary concern.

“Your generosity is truly appreciated," she said, giving him a measured smile as she accepted the money. "I hope you understand how much this will help our girls." She turned to the only girl in the room. "Victoria." It sounded like a statement, but it was really a question. 

The girl bowed her head an inch. “Mother Superior.”

When the woman left, Victoria set about pouring tea for Alfie. Apparently he’d made some kind of a good impression, because she said, “What kind of horses do you have, sir?”

Alfie raised his eyebrows to her, taken off guard by her question. He stroked his cheeks and scooted his chair a bit closer to the desk as she poured. "Thoroughbreds. I've got a couple racing horses. I don't ride as much as I used to, but I still enjoy watching them," he lied easily, thinking of what he had picked up from his time working for the Shelby’s family business.

"That sounds lovely." She smiled. Not a big smile; she was holding it in a little, but she did seem truly pleased by the idea of horses. "I grew up on a farm, you see. Until I was nine. We had Percherons, though, massive things. Not nearly as fast." She pressed her lips together in a line, thinking, and then blinked. When she blinked, her whole expression changed, becoming almost rueful, self-deprecating. "I'll simply say it, sir: I can sing. If that counts. I can guarantee three years in a contract if you like." She ventured a smile. "Can't promise I'm quick-witted, though. That's too easy to disprove."

It pulled at his heart strings to hear her try and bargain with him. "Percherons? Chr—Goodness. I'm sure you had your hands full with them." he breathed, reaching out to pick up his cup. Alfie averted his eyes for a moment as he brought the cup to his lips. "I'm sure you're very capable, very talented, but there's a very particular young woman that I'm looking for."

Victoria smiled, or tried to. It screamed disappointment, but it was almost apologetic too, like she was sorry for embarrassing them both by cornering him into a rejection. "One of the unwilling, then? We only have a couple that are old enough and that still try to run away sometimes. Is it Irina?"

Alfie gestured to the still empty cup on the cart, inviting her to pour some for herself. "Please. Join me. No, it's not Irina." He shook his head and took another long sip. "What did you mean by one of the unwilling? You mean unwilling to stay at the abbey?"

Victoria didn't take any tea—she knew better than to do that when the Mother Superior was likely on her way back—but she did sit down in a chair next to Alfie. "There's always girls that say they want to leave. Sometimes they're left in the care of the abbey but they refuse to believe it. Others, I'm not sure of." She looked at her hands. "I wanted to be here. It doesn't mean I ignore every other girl. But we all have our own row to hoe, as my mother would say. Which girl are you looking for?"

Alfie watched her and nodded again. "Yes. I'm here for a girl who didn't elect to come." Which sounded far better than  _ a girl who was stolen.  _ He could tell Victoria was bright, and she didn't seem to have any sort of malicious intent. There would be no benefit to her to reveal that Alfie had come with a name in mind. "I'm not sure how the Mother Superior would take to the idea of me requesting by name."

"She wouldn't take well to the idea of you wanting to take a girl who didn't want to be here, either," Victoria said. "But that's in the past now. I'm no liar, but she won't likely ask me. And I don't tell tales." She looked him over. "If you truly are rich, I'd say you came for Sophie. If you're not, you're here for Anna."

Alfie's eyes crinkled with a smile that didn't quite meet his lips. "I'm not truly rich," he admitted, putting his cup down. "But good news: it turns out you are quick-witted. Can you tell me more about Anna? How she is? How she has been?"

Victoria weighed her answer. "She's not hurt, if that's what you're asking. But if you know her, you'd know this isn't the place for her. She fights too much. But she's not cruel and she's not lazy. I like her well enough, but she seems to avoid me. Not sure why. Does that answer your question?"

"It does. Thank you." Alfie wished there was something that he could offer her for her help. "I’m sorry I had to present myself as a lie to you, earlier. And I’m sure you’ll find a good home soon enough."

Before Victoria could answer, the door opened and girls filed in. There were a surprisingly small number of them, though that was perhaps explained by the number of girls who were already out working for other families through the convent. Tall and short, pale and dark, and everything in between, ultimately it was a bit of a squeeze to get all nine of them in the office, Victoria included. And if there was variation in looks, there was even more variation in attitude. All of them were attempting to look demure, some with more success than others, and the things they were hiding ranged from scorn to attraction. A strange sight indeed. 

Four of them were clearly too old to be Anna, one was Victoria, and of the other four remaining, one had black hair and one was a redhead, leaving two girls that might fit Anna's description. Like her brother, she had tawny hair; like her mother, she had dark eyes. This suited two of the girls.

Before Alfie could narrow things down any further, the nun claimed his attention. "It's my understanding, Mr. Solomons, that your need is relatively urgent, so you're looking to go home with a housekeeper today. We have just under half an hour to make arrangements before the girls must attend evening mass. Do you think that's enough time?"

Alfie nodded and looked to the girls. He leaned heavily on the cane as he stood up, feeling himself buckle a bit under the stares of all of the young women. He tried to make himself appear as unthreatening as possible, which was difficult once on his feet even with his slightly bent posture. "Good evening, ladies. Thank you for taking your time before mass to come and meet with me. Mother Superior, do all of these young women suit the particulars I mentioned to you before?” Alfie found it hard to believe. “I don’t mean to be indeliate, but do they all play music, or sing? Do they all know how to ride and care for a horse?” 

"I can't," declared one of them, sounding proud of herself. Unfortunately, it was the redhead, so that didn't help. And the nun gave her a distinct look. "Thank you, Irina," she said dryly. "You may return now. To the kitchens," she added. 

When Irina left, still looking pretty pleased with herself, Victoria curtsied prettily in the general direction of the room. "I'm afraid Mr. Trevelyan and I have already ascertained that I am not perfectly suited to the needs of his establishment. Permission to join Irina?"

The nun looked faintly displeased. She had been sure that Victoria would be a good match for nearly any housekeeping job, especially one in a distant estate, and pleasant enough to charm anyone into taking her. And she felt sure that Victoria would fight hard for a job in a good establishment too, so that made her think that perhaps Victoria had learned something about the Trevelyan household that was less than savory. But she couldn't question the girl in front of her guest and the others, so she merely said, "Check with Sister Margaret and see if she needs help in the library."

"Yes, Mother Superior." Victoria curtsied again, and then drifted out of the room, though, once she was standing behind Mother Superior, she quickly pointed in Anna's direction, something that Anna and every other girl there saw, but the Mother Superior did not.

Anna, it turned out, had hair a bit curly, like her mother's, and a strong chin, and mutinous eyes. They assessed Alfie from top to bottom in excruciating detail. "I've had some hand with horses before," she said into the silence, although it wasn't in exactly a welcoming tone.

Alfie looked to her and let out a breath as he surveyed her. "I see. Thoroughbreds?" he asked, smiling a bit. He mulled over the sentence that Ada had told him, thinking of how he could mask it. "I've two in my care right now. Both from an Eastern breeder.” Alfie remembered the Romani phrase that Ada had shared. He broke it down into two parts, so it sounded and though they were two strange names.  _ Don’t be late for dinner. _

Anna was many things, but an experienced actor was not one of them. Her eyes widened perceptibly, though she was distinctly helped by a tall girl to her left somewhat interfering with the nun's eyeline. She looked down as soon as she realized her mistake, and did her best to remain the same. "That sounds interesting," she said, although she put a slight emphasis on interesting that could almost be construed as rude. Playing true to character, or genuinely trying to put Alfie off? It was hard to tell.

“Anna does seem to have some musical talent in choir,” said the nun, looking at her reprovingly. “A lovely voice. When she cooperates.”

"Does she?" Alfie hummed, cocking his head to the side. "Anna, was it? I could use a strong singer in my home. I am miserable, myself, I will admit. I think it adds a brightness that my home is currently missing. Would you like to come along with me and meet the horses?" He looked up to the Mother Superior. This was the one he was going to take, regardless of the girl's answer.

"Why aren't you in the war?" Anna said. There was absolutely no apology in her voice for the bluntness of her question.

“Anna!”

“If I’m going to be in the company of a man every day for the next year, I deserve to know what kind of a man he is.”

The nun, sensing the inherent truth in that, fell back onto other quibbles. “Mr. Trevelyan is actually looking for a housekeeper and companion for the next three years at a minimum.”

“Then I certainly must know what kind of a man he is.”

Alfie raised a calming hand to the Mother Superior, showing that he wasn't offended by Anna's question. "She's absolutely right. Me being here today could very well be a testament to my character. I sustained an injury that prevents me from serving." He gestured to his cane and leg. "If circumstances had been different, I would be there... But it would seem that God has given me purpose to do His work elsewhere."

Anna looked at him for a long moment, longer than was polite. The Mother Superior was close to intervening, but then she thought: let them have it out. Maybe he'll win her respect and it will all come out well. It would be a gift from God to have Anna off her hands. That girl had given her more trouble than any other in that room, and she'd faced stiff competition. If only she could be sure that Anna wouldn’t end up enraging their new patron…

“Well,” Anna said, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try. If you’re no good, I can always run away again.”

“I apologize,” said the nun swiftly. “I should not have asked her to come today. Clearly she is unready to show a face of kindness and patience to the outside world.”

“I’m ready.”

Alfie smirked, impressed with how she handled the Mother and nodded. "Kindness and patience can be paired with a bit of cheek it seems. I do see something in you that I like,” he said directly to Anna. “I trust that you're ready."

Now the nun was backed into a corner. She couldn't say  _ maybe you shouldn't trust that she's ready _ , could she? "I hope she appreciates the opportunities she's being given."

Anna gave a smile, all teeth. “I’m very appreciative, Sister.” It was a deliberate downgrade of the Mother Superior’s rank, but nothing that the nun could respond to in the presence of company.

“Well, it seems decided. Girls, thank you. Please return to your chores.”

With a few curious or hesitant looks back, they filed out, leaving Anna, Alfie, and the nun alone.

The nun shuffled over to her desk, bending to go through some files. “There’s a bit of paperwork for you, Mr. Trevelyan. If you could sign…”

While the nun’s attention was elsewhere, Anna’s face came to life. She could be quite expressive when she wanted to be, and right now she was pure urgency. She motioned at the nun, and then at Alfie, and then at the door. Then at herself, and the ground beneath her feet.

Alfie glanced up to Anna as he sat himself back down at the desk to fill out the paperwork for his donation and new housekeeper. In a few brief pen scratches, he pushed the documents forward to the nun and let out a breath. “There now.” He could practically feel the energy radiating from the young woman as he turned in his chair. If she had been taken, there couldn’t be much for her to pack, but all the same he asked, “Have you a case to put together before we depart?”

A brief expression of annoyance and impatience flitted across the girl's face, but she replied neatly enough: "I have a couple things. One of them a friend made for me." Without asking, and so quickly that the nun couldn't object, Anna slipped out of the office.

The nun sighed. “I apologize for her manners, Mr. Trevelyan. She has not been with us as long as most have. But she does fit your requirements very well, and she is as quick as they come. She'll treat you fairly, and she may take a liking to you. You won't be bored." Those last four words she said as dryly as manners would allow, since she couldn't add:  _ I've never been bored with her here, one way or another.  _

After inspecting the paperwork, the nun put it away back in her desk and then stood. "Shall I see you to your car, Mr. Trevelyan?" Technically it was not fully polite to nudge a guest out the door, but tactically it was sound. If the man was sitting in his car, he'd be much less likely to act on second thoughts than if he was still in the abbey.

Alfie shook his head and stood from his chair. “There’s no need to apologize on her behalf, Mother Superior. She’s a young woman with spirit. God knows that a bit of spirit is something that my household can do with.” He started to the door, small smile on his lips. “I thank you again for the incredible service that you have provided. The assistance will be worth more to me than any donation that I was able to offer.” With a swift motion, Alfie gestured to the door. “After you, I’m a bit slow moving.”

"Of course." The nun exited the room before him, and then began to walk down the hall, quite slowly, to accommodate for Alfie's leg. "I'm very pleased that you're satisfied with Anna. Of course, as her guardians, it's our responsibility to see that she's well taken care of. I hope it's not too inconvenient, but we are required by the Church to check in on her and see how you are getting along. Perhaps in a month? I'll call the number you gave us and arrange an appointment then." They were at the door now, and she smiled. "I truly hope that you find her a good companion. I'm sure she has the potential."

Down the hall, Anna reappeared quietly, on tiptoes. And then disappeared into the nun's office.

“A month? Absolutely. She should be quite settled in by then. I’ll mark it in my calendar and coordinate with you when the time comes.” Alfie stepped through the front door and replaced his hat before tipping it to the nun. “Thank you again for your help and hospitality. We’ll be in touch.” He turned to the car and waited for Charlie to open the door for him. “She’s on her way out,” he mumbled as he climbed into the back seat.

Charlie responded only by starting up the engine. Less than a minute later, Anna came walking briskly but calmly out the front door. The minute she got in the back, though, her entire demeanor changed to devilish excitement. 

“Better drive fast, Uncle,” was all she said, and then she threw an envelope over the back of the seat into Alfie’s lap. It contained all the money he’d donated.

Alfie grabbed the envelope and peaked inside, a smile on his lips as he tucked the envelope back in his jacket. He loosened his tie and set his hat in the seat beside him before leaning forward to the divider between the front and back seat. "All right there then, Anna? Pleased to meet you at last. I'm Alfie Solomons, a friend to the family." 

"Solomons, hmm." She shook his head with vigor, and then bopped Charlie on the head, to which Charlie grunted and somehow looked rather gruffly pleased. "I see we're diversifying the portfolio of our human assets."

“Wotever the fuck that means,” Charlie muttered.

“Learned it from a banker. So, are we getting Michael next, or is he already at home? I heard some things about Father Hughes. I've got a knife in my stocking drawer back home." Now that she was free from the abbey, she was leaning forward, shaking out her hair, fiddling with it, full of all kinds of nervous energy, eyes darting from left to right and taking in the streets around them.

Alfie smirked as he shook her hand and leaned back in the seat, watching the road as well. “We’re not getting Michael today. He isn’t home yet, but the priority for the afternoon is getting you back to Polly.” He watched her in the rear view mirror. “Father Huges? What’s he done to deserve your knife, Anna?”

"All bastards are the same," Anna said. It was not an answer, but she said it with such bite that her second message was clear:  _ I don't talk outside the family about the family, enemies included _ . "Is Mum all right, then? It—" And here she hesitated, again, because of Alfie. "It's not like her to take this long," she finally admitted. "But then, I guess she's never fancied threatening the church."

“Your mum is all right as she can be with the two of you out of her sight,” Alfie assured, crossing his legs. “It took quite a bit of planning... and with your cousins away, well, I’m sorry this all couldn’t have been done sooner,” he offered sincerely. He folded his arms over his chest and looked her over. “I hope that you don’t hold any of that against her.”

"Why would you care?" Anna's eyes assessed him frankly. He'd done a decent job of acting, but she'd thought that the only reason they recruited outside the family, the business, and the Romani was in order to dodge suspicion. Now she was recalibrating.

“Because I care for your mother and I know it’s been hard for her,” Alfie said with equal frankness to his tone. He didn’t share the reservation that the Shelby family did, and he saw no reason to be ashamed of his concern for them all. “Don’t worry yourself about it.” 

Before Anna could reply, Charlie pulled the car into their street and Alfie let himself out, stretching with a noisy sigh of relief at no longer having to pretend to be proper. “Thank you for your help, Charlie.”

Anna, who was not usually given over to worrying, heard herself being told not to worry and promptly began worrying. This fellow, whoever he was, was very free with his words. Big, and look at the way he didn't mind it, the way he stretched out on a public street. Would Mum like that? It was nearly impossible to tell what Mum liked anymore in a man, since Dad had died so long ago and even alive there hadn't exactly been fondness. But here the man was declaring with perfect confidence that he cared for her. Anna had none of her mother's caution, but once bitten, twice shy; she'd made assumptions about Solomons before, and she was determined never to make the same mistake twice. So. She reserved judgment for the time being, and looked around, affronted to find that everything looked exactly the same as before she had been taken. It felt like things should be different, worse, maybe, without her.

Charlie, in the meantime, merely grunted a goodbye, which was nearly congenial behavior, from him. Anna was one of his favorite relatives and he was glad she was safe, but equally glad to be away from another harebrained Shelby scheme.

“Is she inside?” Anna said, when the car had rattled out of sight. She didn’t know why she was hesitant. She knew she should be eager. But, well, everything felt different, even if it looked the same on the outside.

Alfie tucked the cane under his arm, along with the hat as he walked up the couple steps to the front door. "She should be. Ada, Martha, the babies, as well. You've yet to meet your cousin, John Jr." He knocked firmly before turning to her. "Ready?" 

**Author's Note:**

> As with Ashling and my previous piece, this was inspired by a roleplay that expanded itself to approximately 100 pages in a Google document. It's been a pleasure to drag this from our archive and tidy it up to be read as a story. We hope that you have enjoyed it and will stick around for upcoming chapters. I may be biased, but this is a hell of an emotional rollercoaster. 
> 
> Cheers, 
> 
> Shoshe
> 
> PS We are running out of material from that RP, but we think our plans for the last chapter will be satisfying and come with some closure for the story. The plan is to publish that last chapter sometime this weekend, mid-September 2020. <3 <3 <3 Thank you for coming on this ride with us! —Ashling


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